Abnormal
by PalaeoPanthalassa
Summary: It's not merely survival of the fittest in the slums of Arkham City, but survival of the luckiest. So far Clara has been lucky but she can't help but wonder when her luck will run out, she can only hope it's not before she figures a way to escape out of the nightmare.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**Wavering**

Water streamed down the sides of the old crumbling building, rain pattered loudly upon the cracked pavement. Clara ducked into a low lit side-street and crouched below an overhanging balcony, the cloudy sky above hiding much of the icy moon's light. She tugged at her mud-soaked uniform, the red was dark brown under all the dirt, a small circle of blue with a white cross was just barely visible upon her shoulder.

Shivering, she listened. The rain was a constant buzz and drowned out sounds that would have normally been much more apparent, it cloaked the possible sound of approaching footsteps; Clara hated this. She tightened her arms around herself, curling inwards for warmth.

She had been stuck in Arkham City for over two weeks now, and during that time she had danced with death repetitively, little access to food or water and with the constant danger of being caught and killed by the others imprisoned within the compound.

Clara only dealt with problems when she had no other choice, within her mind she liked to live elsewhere, but what could she do when there was no way to deal with the problem? Escape was the only answer, but she was yet to figure out how.

Only mere hours ago the place she had been sleeping in, her only shelter from the elements and cold of the oncoming winter, a ruin of a house missing much of its wall, had been found by others. And so she had ran, with no other choice she sought a new home, no matter how hard to find.

For a while she rested, and time seemed to slow down for what could have been minutes but may have been hours, all Clara knew was that when she next looked up, drawn to reality by the harsh shouts of approaching voices, was that the rain had stopped falling.

'Hey! A bit far off ya patch, aren't ya, ladies?' shouted one voice, much closer than comfortable.

Hunkering down further against the wall, Clara peeked out from the shadows, fighting to keep her breathing quiet.

They were not shouting at her though, Clara could see from where she was, that two patrols from rivalling gangs had just crossed paths and were now sizing each other up. She recognised the insignias, white face paint and colour for one group, warped rubber masks for the other; the Joker's and Two-Face's people.

'Screw you! We own this town!' shouted back a man with a twisted smile painted upon his face, and immediately he was backed up by a chorus of yells from his group. There were more people in the Joker's patrol than Two-Face's, and they knew it.

'Oh yeah? Well word is that your boss isn't going to be around much longer, guess we'll just have to help ourselves to _**his**_ town.'

'Tough talk coming from a newcomer! Joker has been here since the beginning, ain't no way Two-Face has got anything on us!'

It seemed imminent that a fight was about to break out. Clara watched, her nervous thoughts darting between the idea of waiting until the fight was over or fleeing while they were distracted.

But the fight never broke out, for at that moment a series of shots rang out. One of Two-Face's men had somehow got his hands on a handgun, a weapon not readily assessable in the compound due to regulation - steel pipes, chains and crowbars were much more common.

Joker's patrol party was now fleeing, though two lay sprawled upon the ground unmoving. Two-Face's patrol gave chase and ran after them. The two groups quickly disappeared from sight but she could hear them both long after they were gone, Clara listened to them over her own pulse beating loudly in her ears.

Then her gaze fell upon the sprawled bodies.

'You better be quick,' said a voice to her left.

Clara looked over her shoulder and saw her brother, Dereck, was standing nearby. He smiled at her and crossed his arms. She frowned at him uncomfortably.

'If you don't hurry up, the other's will be back and then there won't be anything left for you,' he continued. 'Come on, I mean it _isn't_ like you're _starving_ and own _nothing_ but that tatty uniform you've still got on from Mercy's.'

'It is not an opportunity I can afford to ignore,' she agreed. 'Warn me if you hear anyone coming back.'

She listened out once more for anyone nearby, then she darted out from her cover and ran to the unmoving men.

Part of her mind cringed as she crouched down to rummage through their pockets for spoils, telling her it was wrong to steal from anyone let alone disrespect the dead in this way, but she was desperately hungry, unarmed and without any useful possessions other than the uniform she still wore from her psychiatric unit.

Blanking out any empathy she might have held for the two dead people, she tried to tell herself to think of the situation as a shopping opportunity rather than a theft. She grabbed a black beanie off of one of them, placing it over her cold head. Her hair was only just beginning to grow back, the orderlies had thought it best she had it shaved off before she was placed within this 'correctional facility', they had said it was so she would draw less attention to herself.

Clara had naively thought the place she was being sent to was safe, but Clara knew the truth now, and she recalled the last words she had shared with her nurse only too bitterly:

_'And the more dangerous patients, and the prisoners from Blackgate. They will be segregated, right?'_

_'Pff, I can't think why they wouldn't be, sweetheart. It's not like they plan to lock you all up together in the hopes that you'll all kill each other.'_

A nearby groan brought her abruptly out of her musings, prompting her to drop the empty mint and cigarette packets she had found in her rummaging. Her eyes darted downward and to the next man along, whom she still hadn't investigated yet.

To both her horror and surprise he was still breathing, still moving, and even as she looked he choked and shuddered.

'Well it's your time to shine now, Clara,' said Dereck, walking into view. 'You going to help him?'

Clara ignored him, frozen on the spot, conflict tearing at her mind to the point she did not know what to do next.

'He is practically a dead man,' she said eventually, trying to reason her immorality, gaze turning to Dereck. 'Joker's patrol are not going to come back to rescue him and when Two-Face's gang find him again they'll kill him.'

'He's not dead at the moment.' Dereck pointed out, shrugging his shoulders.

Clara frowned again, her hands twitching. She eyed the still living man's puffer jacket, it had no arms so she could easily see the deep pockets by the man's hip; would it really be so bad to steal something if someone else was bound to steal it otherwise anyway?

Her stalling cost her precious time though, and quite suddenly she was aware of the sound of approaching voices.

'You should probably get out of here,' Dereck suggested.

Without thinking, Clara grabbed the injured man under his arms and dragged him out of view to where she had been hiding before, she then hunkered down and hid as well. She held the sleeves of her shirt over his mouth so that his choking would not give them away.

It was Two-Face's patrol returning, they took one look at the remaining dead man, kicked him over, then moved on. Clara released her hold on the injured man's jaw, and turned to look down at him pitifully. The injured man began choking again, this time she saw blood staining his teeth.

'Do you know what to do?' her brother asked, peering down at the dying man.

Memories and experiences of a lifetime that seemed so distant as to be figments of a dream came streaming back, and with little thought Clara found herself acting accordingly. She took off the man's jacket and used it to prop up his head, being careful not to twist his neck. She held a hand to his neck, and felt his pulse. His heart was beating too slowly, bradycardia. She looked to his face and saw that his eyes were open and looking at her, he then shuddered and his fingers make a weak attempt to curl in upon themselves.

'It's going to be alright,' she found herself reassuring him automatically as she pulled back his shirt to look at his injuries. Only to find that she couldn't, the injury was too messy. .

Clara knew immediately that the bullet had struck a major artery, and possibly more with the weakness the man was demonstrating. This would not necessarily have been fatal in the modern world they lived in, but she already knew there was nothing she could do. She pulled a sock from her pocket, which she had previously used as a cloth, and pressed down over the injury nonetheless. But she knew a simple bandage or compression wouldn't do, the internal injuries were too great.

The man was passing away before her own eyes, skin turning ashen while his choking became feebler.

'I think we're losing him, doc,' joked Dereck.

Clara swatted at her brother and turned to snarl at him: 'I am not a doctor!'

Then she turned away from him and pressed down upon the dying man's wound again.

'But you could have been,' Dereck chided. 'If, you know, you hadn't gone completely crazy.'

Clara shivered, but it was not from the cold, she refused to give her brother further bait.

'I have other priorities now,' she bit out in a toneless voice. 'Even if it means acting some sort of foul vulture, or rat, taking whatever advantages I can just to stay alive, no matter what the cost to anyone else, I must survive.'

And she returned to her original mission.

She took the dying man's jacket for herself. Her thoughts turned bitter at her own self pity, she helped herself to the man's belt, shoes and even his bloodstained shirt.

The man was still twitching some minutes after she had abandoned trying to help him, but Clara believed he was no longer consciously aware of his surroundings, thus mercifully not aware of the cold or pain from being shot.

'Are you going to take anything for yourself?' she asked her brother after a while, pointing out to the remaining dead man in the street.

'Of course not. You _know_ I can't,' scoffed Dereck, then gestured to the perfectly clean and ironed brown and white work suit he wore. 'Besides, I've already got perfectly adequate clothing.'

Clara blinked at him astonished.

'How did you...' she began, but then she remembered. 'I'm sorry. I forgot; you're not really here.'

And she turned away from him, and gathered the items she had stolen, counting to ten in her head.

When she looked back, Dereck was gone.

* * *

Clara pulled the shoelace through a hole she had driven through her old uniform shirt with a pen knife. With new clothes stolen and collected from around the compound, she had began to convert her old shirt into a bag of sorts, so as to make it easier for her to carry items from place to place while she scavenged. And now her work was complete.

Her newest home, of many since arriving here, was underneath a rotten wooden porch, which she could just about squeeze under and was so dark that no one was likely to see her if they looked in without the aid of a torch. She wasn't having much luck with food though, and hunger was always on her mind, as was fatigue.

For a moment she rested her head, as always she faced away from the wall to keep a look out, she could faintly see the street beyond illuminated by the moonlight. Her thoughts drifted to food, she thought of junk food, of sugar sweet soda and vinegar coated chips. For a moment she smiled at the thought, then she began to move closer to sleep.

Abruptly she was falling, the sky above her was a sharp blood red and the only surface she could grab onto to stop her fall were sharp and jagged rocks that jutted out of the cliff face, battering and bruising her hands whenever she tried to reach for them. The air around her feverishly hot, choking her whenever she tried to breath.

Clara jolted awake and sat up the best she could in the cramped space, hyperventilating. She looked around at her surroundings, reassuring herself that she was still in the increasing cold of Arkham City and not elsewhere. Subconsciously one hand drifted to the left side of her face where a jagged scar stretched down from the top of her cheek reaching nearly to her lip.

She shook her head fiercely, trying to clear her head. Hunger gnawed at her stomach and she knew that if she didn't eat soon she risked running too low on energy to be able to gather any more in the future. She could run fast now but she would run exhausted, it would be worse if she was slow and exhausted. She would die.

It was time to face the music again. She slipped out from her hiding spot cautiously, all the while listening out for possible danger. And then, with her make-shift bag upon her back, she set off into the night.

* * *

She was not an idiot. Clara repeated this to herself as she hid, soaked to the bone, back pressed up against the slippery green wall of an old bridge. Wide eyed she listened for the tell-tale sound of running feet. She did not want to be caught, she knew what would happen if she was. This was a new level of danger really, Clara had never dared venture this close to the heart of Two-Face's territory before, but she needed the food, and she knew this gang would likely have a lot of it.

Perhaps it had been idiotic to venture here, but it was all about survival. Everything now was about weighing the odds out, what was worth what? What was worth the risk? For the example, the stolen goods she carried with her now in her makeshift bag, said goods consisting of several tins of food and a pair of scissors – were they worth the risk she had just taken? A wager that given her life did not end that night that she would have something to eat later, just so that she could repeat the whole process again when she ran out of food once more.

She froze and held her breath as two thugs stormed past her hiding place, the rubber masks upon their faces eerily warped.

There were reasons other than distance that had made her target Two-Face's territory, as far as she knew from what she had overheard so far was that his gang was no particularly stable yet, apparently it was 'still finding it feet', though she was not so naïve as to think that this meant this 'heist' was safe. She had a keen fear of Joker's territory, having had most of her previous shelters found out by his patrols, she was more than eager to stay away from that area of the city. She knew little of the third major gang run by the Penguin, she understood it was in a relatively small area but also highly fortified – not that she had ever dared wander close enough to see if this was really the case.

She waited for a few moments more before she dashed from her hiding space, making for the shadows in an alcove just a few meters up ahead, just as another one of the thugs dropped down from the balcony above to follow after the others. She scrambled to a halt and immediately gave herself away.

'What the-' the thug barely had time to notice her before she was running away in the opposite direction. Adrenaline had bitten in sharply and she wished to put as much room between her and the gang as possible.

'Over here! The little shit is over here!' she heard them shout, the pounding of her feet on the ground and the pulse of her life in her head drowned out much else.

She couldn't hear how far behind her they there, she couldn't tell if there were any more up ahead, but given that she was smack down right near the middle of Two-Face's territory, it would be very unlikely that they weren't.

Sure enough she spotted more nonchalantly standing around up ahead, not yet aware of her intrusion. She darted into a side alley, and hid behind a dumpster. Up ahead of her was a dead end, a three story wall with nothing to grip onto. She hoped they would pass by, she really hoped!

'Down there!'

But they were getting closer.

Clara looked up and around herself frantically, wondering whether or not climbing on top of the dumpster would help her reach anything that would allow her to scale the wall. She felt cold metal below her hands and realised that she was crouched directly over a drainage cover, she pulled it up immediately and scrambled down. She could only just fit, the tunnel around her was not forgiving, and without much room to move it was hard to scramble very fast along it.

'Quick! Get down there!' She heard them pulling drainage cover back further, the shuffling of many agitated feet echoed in the tunnel.

'Man, I can't see shit! Has anyone got a light?'

She continued scrambling along, not bothering about how much noise she made now, it was too late anyway, she pushed her precious loot ahead of her, but it was greatly slowing her down and worse now was that she didn't even have the option to get rid of it, there simply wasn't enough room in the tunnel to move the bag behind her.

'There is someone down there! Aw, hell, they are way back! How are we supposed to reach them now?'

The simple answer was that they couldn't.

She continued scrambling for what felt like hours. She feared she would suffocate, there was little air in the tunnel to begin with, but then the tunnel opened up into a much larger area, an abrupt drop ahead of her.

Her fingers closed upon the tunnel edge, she pulled herself forward so she could look around.

It must have been an old sewer system she decided, though it obviously hadn't been running in a long time. The only water draining into here now was rainwater from the narrow drainage tunnels, such as the one she had just crawled down. Clara had already long since learned that none of the taps in Arkham City worked, the facility was not provided with water on a regular basis. In fact she didn't know where the others here even got water from, she had initially stolen it from them but soon realised that water was very heavy and running helter-skelter down a slippery street would be fatal if said prize was not quickly relinquished.

She tossed her bag of tins onto a nearby walkway, then shimmied over herself after it. She quickly checked on the goods to make certain that they were all there, making sure that she hadn't accidentally dropped any into the water, then she looked around for a way out. By logic's sense there had to be an exit somewhere nearby because of all the access walkways that she could see. All she needed to do was look around for a metal ladder soldered to the wall and sure enough she would find a drainage cover at the top.

Clara did a double take when she caught sight of her reflection in the water below, thinking for a moment that someone was already down there with her. Her face was grubby with dirt, the scar on her cheek accentuated by the filth. She looked nothing like she remembered, she didn't look like Clara. But quite frankly she didn't want to be Clara right now.

Then Dereck's reflection showed up beside hers.

'How about you be someone else?' he suggested. 'You don't have to be Clara anymore if you don't want to. No one here is going to stop you, no one here knows any better.'

'I don't want to be anyone else.' Clara replied brokenly. 'I liked who I am.'

'Liked. See? Try being someone else while you don't like you.'

'I just want to get out of here,' she ignored him, but then gave his suggestion some thought. 'I need a plan, though I guess being someone else might help in the meantime.'

It was all part of her plan, she told herself, not that her plan was very intricate. She wanted to escape the confines of Arkham City, that was her main goal other than survival. A change of character was necessary, she had told herself many times, she needed to be someone else. She could not be vulnerable, though she was, so she had to tell herself that she wasn't. It was all fairly familiar territory with her, she had told herself stories before, told herself false truths, she did not find it hard to make them up.

'I'll be Kelly.' she replied.

The face that looked back at her – a desperate exhausted face with tired eyes and sunken cheeks - so different than what she remembered, but that suited her just fine, she could just pretend that it wasn't her. It went with her new tale, her new persona - perhaps Kelly - wasn't doing so well, but Clara was just fine.

'No you won't, doesn't sound tough enough.' scoffed Dereck, sitting down to polish his shoes with one sleeve. 'I've got a much better idea, you can be called Dereck!'

'But that's your name,' she replied, exasperated. 'What's wrong with Kelly?'

'Absolutely nothing,' he said, putting his hands in his pockets and then grinned. 'But, Dereck is a very good name, who wouldn't want to be named after me?'

'I am not Dereck,' she replied and set about opening one of the tins of baked beans she had, covering the tin with a piece of cloth to muffle the noise as she struck repeatedly at the metal with a rock until it warped. She then stabbed the stretched metal with her pocketknife and ripped it open.

'Why not Dereck?' her brother continued, dusting off the shoulders of his suit.

'Because if I was then you wouldn't exist,' she replied, wolfing down the contents of the tin.

'On the contrary, if you didn't exist, I still would,' Dereck said, walking away from her.

Clara bit her tongue, immediately regretting her words.

'...a tin opener would be useful,' Clara said abruptly, trying to ignore what had just been said. 'I haven't seen any lying around though, probably worth more than their weight in gold in this prison compound, right? Dereck?'

But her mind had now caught up with reality again, and Dereck had vanished.

She shook her head furiously and tried to focus on her breathing. She counted to 10 again, then looked back down at what tonight's excursion had been all about; food. She considered opening a second tin, but then contemplated how gluttony was not something she could afford, when something thudded dully nearby.

She froze.

It was a quiet sound, she would not have even heard if she had still been eating. The water nearby lapped lazily against the wall opposite her, but that made no sense - this place was disused.

Abruptly the waters in front of her exploded.

Waves cascading in every direction and splashing loudly in the tunnels. Something huge and dark had lurched out of the water and onto the walkway she had been sitting on only moments before, but Clara didn't get a clear look because she was already running.

Like a dog with its tail between its legs, Clara fled screeching in terror down a rusted metal walkway, the metal chains clinking and screeching warningly with each step she took.

She heard the monster try to pursue her, the whip like crack of metal when the chains holding up the walkway behind her broke; whatever her pursuer was, falling back into the water again with an almighty splash.

Clara glanced back over her shoulder and saw that her thing had disappeared, completely vanished from sight. She didn't stop running though, frantically she scanned for an exit of any kind, a ladder, another drainage tunnel leading to the surface! It was then she became aware of the lack of weight upon her back or the chafing of cloth around her neck.

Her backpack!

Her food!

She skidded to a halt and looked back, she could no longer see around the bend where she had been before but with no sign of her bag now she knew she had left it there.

She was presented with yet another decision, was the return worth it? Was the risk worth it?

_'Clang!'_

The answer came immediately as a resounding NO, when without warning huge clawed hands gripped either side of the walkway she was standing on, and dug in, there was a reptilian like hiss and the metal began to buckle like it was made out of cardboard.

Clara narrowly avoided being thrown into the water by leaping onto the next platform.

There was a growl and she heard the air whistle behind her as it swiped at her, then there was the popping and crumbling of the cement above as the chain rivets were ripped free from their holdings in the ceiling.

It was no safer on the walkway than it was in the water.

And then salvation, she spotted a tunnel like the one she had exited, just up ahead to her left. She scrambled up, clawing and kicking for all she was worth as scrambled inwards and away from the main tunnel. Terrified of being caught half in and defenceless, she had no idea how fast she was moving, no idea how far she was from the main tunnel she had just left.

There was a bestial roar behind her and something violently knocked one of her boots to one side. She heard the claws catch on the side of the tunnel and tear at the concrete. Immediately Clara pulled her feet up to her body, curling in on herself in the narrow tunnel, crushing herself but willing to sacrifice her comfort for her retention of her limbs.

She could now see back down the tunnel, and saw to her horror one of the same hands that had crushed the metal walkway reaching in after her, trying to catch hold of her and hook her back out.

Wryly she thought of the old rumours of alligators living in the sewers as she noted the dark green scales upon the clawed hand, it didn't look human, this didn't seem real and Clara wondered if perhaps if her mind had completely cracked and she was imaging everything.

Her memories then darted back to her general knowledge of Gotham before her incarceration and she remembered the terrifying tales of Killer Croc the cannibal. She tugged herself a little further along the tunnel using just her hands before she was certain enough that it was safe for her to use her feet and scramble away.

The beast roared at her down the tunnel, giving up on trying to pull her out. The tunnel seemed to shudder as there was a loud thud. The monster growled and then there was a loud splash. There was no further noise as Clara frantically scrambled further and further away.

* * *

_A/N: Killer Croc doesn't make much of an appearance in this chapter, but he will become progressively more important as the story goes on._

_**Quick summary of this chapter:**_

_Clara is a young woman who has been incarcerated in Arkham City, the reasons are not yet given but it's strongly implied to be mental illness including vivid hallucinations and post-traumatic stress._

_Having been chased out of yet another of her temporary hideouts, Clara is on the run and in search of a new home. Tired and cold, she rests from the rain under shelter. Nearby a fight breaks out between Joker's and Two-Face's gangs. Two men are shot, and in the aftermath Clara goes out to steal what she can off the corpses. One of the men is still alive, and remembering some of her medical training, Clara tries to save him but fails. All the while imagining her brother is with her, only to then remember that that isn't possible as he is no longer around._

_About a week later she tries to steal food from Two-Face's gang but fails, she only narrowly escapes into the sewer system where they can't follow her. Here she begins to imagine her brother is talking to her again, she delays finding a way out because of this. Killer Croc is in the vicinity and hears her, desperately hungry himself, he frantically tries to catch and eat her. Clara is lucky for a second time that night though, and manages to escape._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

**Risk**

There was only two ways of obtaining food in Arkham city. One method was being around when the food drops were delivered – which was suicide as the _big three_ had all long since staked a claim to these sites – while the second was stealing - whether from the dead or living all depended on the circumstances.

Clara always had to be on the alert for fights, and she knew that every night there were many more fights between the gangs that she simply wasn't near enough to hear or witness. Relying on finding anything useful on the dead was a risky strategy as everyone else in the facility often had exactly the same idea on their minds. To be able to get anything useful, she needed to be first on the scene, which was rarely the case.

Someone living would be much more likely to have something on them. But would also be far more dangerous to deal with.

It really hadn't been planned, Clara had stumbled across him by complete accident, and while she waited for him to pass by so that she could leave, she had noticed that he was travelling completely alone and wandering noticeably far from any of the established borders of Two-Face's territory: she saw weakness. But the truth was that while the man might seem relatively weak when compared to a majority of those within the facility, when in comparison to her this was probably not the case.

She chose to ignore this fact.

It was a stranger with a large rucksack upon his back. A rucksack that was bound to be filled with something; Clara's thoughts had immediately jumped to the idea of food. There was no real plan, Clara just saw the bulging rucksack upon the loner's back and thought of what it might contain. She was starving, and it was this state of being that overrode the very reality that she was not actually that strong and the fact that she was also alone.

So, deviating from her usual pattern of behaviour, she had started following him with the full intent of theft.

She knew her safest method would be to snatch the bag and run, but unfortunately this would be impossible. The straps of the bag were around the man's shoulders, she knew that she would not be able to simply rip it off him. The only way she would be able to get it was if she could convince him to let go of it; and here in Arkham there was only one way that she knew would work.

But all she had on her that could be used as a method of persuasion was a small penknife, and now even her hunger crazed mind was beginning to have doubts about how effective this would be. Killing was out of the question, she doubted she even would be able to if she had wanted to, the danger to her own life in getting so close was too risky to be worthwhile. Instead she needed to keep her distance, and threaten to inflict the harm that she couldn't; there was another problem here though - apart from the fact that she had never done anything like this before and didn't really know what she was doing - it was that she didn't know if he was armed.

Which here in Arkham, travelling alone, he no doubt was.

It was because of this train of thought that she still had yet to make a move, though she had pursued him for some distance now, keeping far back and being careful to avoid detection.

Ahead of her, the target paused to look back. Clara quickly pressed herself against a wall, blending into the shadow, hoping that she hadn't been seen.

The immorality of what essentially would be a mugging, didn't factor into the equation of her decision. Clara didn't really have a choice, and was too hungry to care right at this moment, too desperate from only having a chance of getting something to eat more than once every other day. _'These are dangerous people, they would do exactly the same to you without a second thought,' _she told herself as she handled the penknife hidden in her pocket.

The stranger bore no symbols of allegiance on his clothes, but up until now he had seemed to have been heading towards the Penguin's territory. Clara was actually getting a little concerned at how close they were getting, and knowing that she wasn't necessarily going to get anything out of following the stranger any further, she was now beginning to consider whether it was time to cut her losses and just leave.

The place the target had stopped in front of was the ruins of an old house, only one of its four walls were still relatively intact and the ceiling was gone altogether. He was now looking around, checking to see if anyone was nearby, Clara grit her teeth and kept her eyes firmly locked on him, hoping that he hadn't caught on that he was being followed.

Time was always a precious thing, and it was something she would lose if she gave up now. Time lost when she could have been looking elsewhere. Her thoughts drifted back to the bag she had left in the sewer around a week before, it had contained perhaps enough tins to last a further week at least, and it was possible it was still there. This was not the first time she had thought about this fact.

But then she remembered claws, crumbling metal and the beast that tried to kill her, and she felt some sort of primal fear that filled her with dread whenever she considered going back.

And ultimately, like every time she had considered it before, Clara decided the risk simply wasn't worth it.

The target had now finished surveying his surroundings and was heading into the ruin, Clara followed after him despite her instinct telling her to stay away from enclosed spaces. _'It will be easier to corner him, he won't be able to run away,_' she argued in her head, but then realised the same logic would also apply to her if things turned nasty_._

She tested the weight of the penknife in her hand again, then flicked the blade open.

Pausing at the entrance to the ruin, she listened carefully before looking in, wondering what significance the building held to her target; was it perhaps a hideout or had he noticed her and was trying to lose her? She could hear him walking away from her, then there was a thump before the sound of him moving yet further away continued.

Clara stepped through the open doorway, from which the door was missing, as was most of the wall. Quickly she sprung forward and raised her blade to chest height, only to find the place empty.

It was then that she spotted the hole in the ground, the tiles seemingly having just crumbled inwards. She moved closer and saw that she could see through to a train track below ground.

The stranger had gone underground.

Cautiously she dropped down after him.

She found she was now in an underground train tunnel, and was standing on a raised platform which was supported several meters above the train rail below and was connected to a bridge that would have originally ran over the tracks. But the bridge was broken now, and half of it lay on the ground below. The only way down was by a rusty ladder that was fortunately still holding together.

She edged over to the balcony and looked down the tunnel both ways, but found the loner had vanished from sight.

She climbed down a rusted ladder and reached the tracks, and saw that in many parts the ground had cracked and was wrenched in two. There were several relatively large trenches in the ground as a result, showing that subway had been out of commission for several decades at least.

Seeing nothing of use or interest down here, Clara decided there was nothing for it but to call it a day and go back up. It had been a dangerous and stupid plan, and she wasn't familiar with the area she was in.

Footsteps abruptly began to come up behind her and instinctively she bolted forward, only narrowly avoiding being cracked over the head with a brick.

'Did you really think I wouldn't notice you?' the stranger bellowed, keeping the brick raised and advancing towards her again. He was old and haggard, his eyes sunken deep into his skull, and he looked every bit as desperate as she did. 'If you don't leave off now, I'm going to smash your face in, you understand!?'

Seeing nothing for it, Clara drew out her pathetic penknife and held it aloft.

'H-hand over the bag, or e-else!' she stuttered, waving the knife, but her attempt to sound dangerous had already fallen flat, her voice and posture was all wrong, high pitched in fear and cowering.

'You think I'm scared of you, punk?' snarled the stranger, then he charged at her again. 'Leave off now!'

Clara stepped backward quickly, only to find herself falling backwards into one of the trenches in the ground. There was earth on either side of her, separated by gap that was so narrow that she couldn't turn around, and for a terrifying moment Clara thought she was trapped. But then she realised it was also only about 3 feet deep and she could easily climb out, she struggled to get up but already the stranger had appeared over the top, and he was readying himself to finish her off while she was temporarily immobilized.

'Please don't!' she begged. 'I was just hungry!'

'We all are,' he stated, drawing his arm back.

And then the ground began to shake.

For a terrifying moment Clara thought that somehow despite the cracked railings and the warped track, a train was thundering down towards them. Above her the stranger looked away from her for one moment, and then a terrified look passed over his face.

He dropped the brick and ran.

Then a bone chilling roar filled the air, and something immense and charging did pass over her hiding spot but it wasn't a train.

The man barely had time to start to scream before there was a thud of collision, and the air was apparently crushed from his lungs.

Twisted and awkwardly fallen where she was, Clara was neither prepared nor able to block out the sickening sounds that followed.

Cracking, popping, ripping, shrieking.

The frenzy was over in seconds, then an eerie silence filled the air. Clara heard several heavy footsteps, then a heavy thud as if something immense had just been dropped down.

Clara was too terrified to move, but she knew that she couldn't stay where she was.

By now there was noise again, ripping interspersed with occasional sharp cracks, Clara took this opportunity to rise to her feet as quietly as she could. And shaking fiercely in terror, she brought her head up to look over the edge.

And nearly fell back again in horror.

Not ten meters away, Killer Croc was sitting down with his back to her, apparently unaware of her presence. His arms were folded in front of himself, and every so often the muscle in his neck and shoulders would bunch as he pulled his head back, an action which was accompanied by a ripping sound.

Clara fought the urge to retch, she couldn't see the stranger from her angle but she could see the pooling blood, she knew what was happening.

She immediately sought escape and looked towards the way she had come in.

_'That platform, focus on getting back up there!'_ she told herself over and over in her head. _'Get out now! Just run for it!'_

But Killer Croc was inadvertently acting as a giant guard dog, sitting nearly directly in her path, and there was no way she was going to risk running past him.

So gathering every bit of willpower in her, she pulled herself out of the trench and slowly got to her feet, all the while keeping her eyes locked on the danger. She began to tiptoe back towards the ladder up to the balcony.

_'This is no different that normal, just be quiet as possible and everything will be okay,'_ she tried reassuring herself, but already she was being showered with doubts.

Now that she needed to climb it in a hurry, the rusty ladder no longer looked as reliable, and she could only hope that it wouldn't crumple away from the wall in her hands. But it wasn't really like there were any other options, so upon reaching the ladder she firmly took hold of her metal in her hands and put her first foot up onto one of the rungs. So far so good, but when she took her second step one of the rungs snapped under foot, her boot scuffing at the wall, sounding impossible loud to her ears.

The sounds of the human feast abruptly stopped.

A sound not that different from the hissing of steam broke the silence.

Killer Croc was sniffing the air, deep sharp intakes of air. Clara got the image that he was smelling out his environment, but that wasn't possible, right? _'It isn't exactly normal to be covered in scales either,'_ her mind reminded her.

She slowly turned her head to look over her shoulder, just in time to see Croc turning around, jagged teeth dripping red.

Her eyes met his for one brief second and then she was bolting up the ladder and onto the high platform, fear of breaking the rusted metal completely gone.

Behind her, Croc roared and heard the ground thunder under his feet as he gave chase.

She was already out of his reach though, past the ladder and scrambling up the rockfall that led to the surface.

* * *

Back out in the cold night air, she began to shake, grinding her teeth and eventually sliding to the ground against a wall with her hands held to her face.

After several minutes had passed in which she regained her breath and calmed her beating heart, Dereck walked into view several feet away, he had his hands in his pockets and a scowl on his face.

'Well that went splendidly,' he said sarcastically. 'You could have died.'

'I think I would definitely include tonight in top five events I would never want to repeat,' she replied quietly, giggling a little as her nerves got the better of her. 'But I'm still alive at least.'

'You won't be for long if you don't have anything to eat,' her brother continued. 'Do you remember how my wife Millie used to cook a sunday roast for the family? Now that was good food. Ever wonder what happened to Millie?'

Clara had closed her eyes, doing her best to ignore him.

'You need to go back,' Dereck commented presently. 'That bag the stranger was carrying, there must be food in there.'

'There might not be,' Clara replied, then cringing as she realised she had replied to the hallucination.

'You won't know if you don't try. Far as I can see there is a free meal just lying around down there just waiting for someone to come along and pick it up.'

'Yeah, and giant mouse trap of green scales and fangs waiting to snap shut beside it,' she replied.

'Well scale face can't stay there all night, right? If he doesn't see you, he'll leave as soon as he's finished eating,' Dereck - or rather some part of her mind - tried to encourage her.

* * *

Reasoning that she was safe as long as she remained out of reach, Clara eventually summoned the courage to go back down. Quietly as she could, she dropped back down, and immediately flattened herself against the balcony so that she was out of sight from the ground below. Over the thudding of her own heart she paused to listen again. The sounds of ripping and cracking were still audible, Croc was still there and still feeding.

Keeping low, she began to move slowly back the way she had came, but stopped when she realised she was making noise. She couldn't see much from where she was, mainly just the opposing wall and a little of the track. She decided the best thing was to wait it out, so she lay still and listened, waiting for when the monster below would depart. But in her panic she had forgotten one of his more inhuman abilities.

Below there was a sharp hiss.

'I can smell your fear. Stop hiding!' Croc growled abruptly.

If she hadn't been lying down, Clara would have leapt into the air at the unexpected voice. They were the first words she had ever heard him say, part of her having suspected that he couldn't speak at all. Even so his voice was strange, primeval.

She remained flat upon the platform, out of sight and unmoving.

Below her she heard a growl and the next moment something about the length of her forearm was thrown. It flew over her head and collided with the wall behind her with a crack. She looked and saw that it was the shattered remains of a thigh bone.

Crying out in horror, Clara rapidly scrambled to her feet and stepped away.

With her cover blown, Clara looked down to the floor below, and froze.

Though Croc was indeed still eating he was also now directly facing her direction, molten inhuman eyes watching her every move.

She said absolutely nothing at all, frozen in the surreality of the situation, staring down at the terrifying monstrosity on the ground below.

Unlike the last time where everything had just been a frantic blur to escape, she could now get a proper look at him, in fact she was unable to look away, locked with morbid fascination. She had to remind herself several times that what she was looking at was indeed human, or had been at some point, because the monstrosity below her really looked like nothing she had ever seen before.

Fearsome fangs seemed to almost erupt out of the sides of the creature's mouth. No lips and virtually no ears or nose, the tissue atrophied away. The clinical side of Clara found itself surfacing unceremoniously to the forefront of her mind. She could see the indent of every rib, he hadn't been eating well either.

'Want a bite?' the monster asked nastily, interrupting her train of thought with the horrific visual of him holding up some part of what only an hour before had been living human being. Clara shrunk back, pushing herself as far back against the wall as she could.

Killer Croc laughed, the sound like the fierce crackling of a fire.

She stayed like this until she hard Killer Croc resume feeding, which she did her best to ignore, and then edged forward a little again to look over the side again in search of the rucksack. She still couldn't see it though, so she hunkered down again and waited, Croc was visible out of the corner of her vision but she made sure not to look at him, this way she could at least see if he was moving - if he decided to throw something at her again or grew bored and left when he had finished eating-

Clara remembered then exactly what Croc was eating and shivered, she wondered if it was perhaps shock that was numbing her senses to the fact that it could just as easily have been her down there in the messy pile of bones if she hadn't stumbled. If Clara had been in this situation a year before...well she wouldn't have been in this situation full stop.

'You trapped up there?' Croc asked after a while, then continued with a low laugh. 'Come on down.'

She didn't reply, she simply bit her lower lip and continued searching the ground level for her original goal. She then finally spotted the rucksack lying discarded by crushed dark mass of pointed things which could only have been ribs. Never before had Clara seen such carnage, it was unthinkable really, short of a violent plane crash a human body would never be expected to be so badly torn apart.

'Maybe you knew him,' Croc suggested, she could see that he was holding the dead body up out of the corner of her eye. 'That why you're not leaving?'

Clara's gaze rounded on him angrily, the bag was close yet so far, and Croc was in the way.

'No,' she ground out, and it was the first word she had shared with anyone alive in a month. She actually startled herself with the sound, and her heart began to beat a little faster. She looked behind herself towards the exit, fearing that someone else might have heard her. She could not afford to have her only exit blocked.

'I know you,' he continued. 'You were skulking around the sewers before. Got a death wish?'

'It's just as dangerous up top,' she replied, crossing her arms and making sure to not look in his direction, she was a little worried that he might throw something again but at the same time the urge to simply not see the carnage was much stronger. Immediately she cringed. _What are you doing?! Did you honestly just speak to that monster!?_

'Grr,' the beast rumbled, losing interest in his previous victim, now fully discarding what remained of the dead man. 'Then what do you want? To stare? I don't like those that stare...'

'I'm not staring at you,' she bit out quickly, wincing again at the fact that she had spoken again without thinking, her hands fluttered by her sides. The frustration grew too much, she gathered the last of her courage and balled her fists at her sides, raising her chin she turned to face Killer Croc. 'Look, I'm just food right? But you've just eaten, so you really should just save me for later. I've got a death wish, right? So I'm bound to come back down here, and you'll catch me later. I just want that freaking rucksack over there, okay? I'm starving too and if I don't eat soon I'll just go starve on the surface and die somewhere where you won't find me, and that'll be a waste of a meal, won't it?'

Croc just stared at her, jaw slightly open. Clara's hands immediately flew over her mouth, shocked at what she had just said, and she stumbled backwards into the shadows, hidden from the monster's sight. That had been a stupid move, her mind told her. She was fully ready for a volley of bones and stones to come flying her way, but that never happened.

Abruptly the tunnel filled with a deep rumbling crackle, Croc was laughing again. Clara nervously got to her feet to see what was going on from where she was.

'You trying to reason with _me_?' he asked when she reappeared again, and there was still the crackling in his voice. 'Trying to _negotiate_? Would never have figured.'

Clara's line of sight drifted towards where the discarded rucksack was again, wishing more than anything that she could have a giant fishing rod or something similar to wheel it to her so that she could leave. Croc followed her gaze this time, he wiped his blood stained hands clean on his trousers as he got up to investigate.

'This what you after?' he asked, the rucksack looked tiny in his hand.

She said nothing, crossing her arms defensively, but moved slightly closer to the edge.

Croc promptly turned it upside down and everything fell out, Clara was unable to stop herself crying out in frustration, thinking that he was just going to take everything for himself. Only it was then her eyes fell on what actually had fallen out of the bag. Packets and packets of cigarettes, the stranger she had been following had obviously having been a dealer of some sort, there was no sign of anything that she could have eaten and Killer Croc seemed to have noticed this too.

'You like dust?' he said, tossing the empty bag up at her, then the tunnel filled with his crackling laughter once more.

Clara caught the bag nonetheless, frantically turning it upside down herself to check that there really was nothing left in it, ignoring the fresh blood stains upon the material. But no matter how fiercely she shook it, no further items fell from the bag. If she hadn't already felt sick to her stomach from the nearby carnage, Clara knew that she would have felt hungrier than ever then.

She tried to reassure herself. _'Focus, you just need to try again elsewhere'_, though the thought made her feel no happier. At least she had a new bag, one that wasn't made out of a recycled old shirt. This positive didn't make her feel any less hungry though.

'I don't mind you doing your starving here,' Killer Croc rumbled, bringing her back down to earth, he had moved to now stand upon the station opposite the balcony – the jump didn't look impossible. 'Come on down, I'll fix your problem.'

Clara didn't reply as she scrambled back up the rockfall and out into the freezing cold night, fearing grasping ebony claws and glinting fangs.

* * *

A/N: Alright, so while we all know Croc is a brutal and vicious killer, I can't say I felt comfortable writing about his cannibalistic tendencies at all - traumatising poor Clara at the same time - but I feel that this is not an issue to be lightly danced over. While it won't make anything any easier in the long term for any eventual friendship blossoming between Clara and Croc, I think it's important that she is aware of his darker side - it wouldn't help anyone for her to remain naive to the issue.

Any progress between these two is going to be very slow, Croc doesn't trust anyone and would sooner eat someone than shake their hand. His time in Arkham having further wrecked his ability to cooperate with others (I'm assuming this because while in the past he has been known to be hired as a heavy by differents gangs, yet for the duration of his stay in Arkham City he is not shown to be working for anyone despite the fact that his sheer strength alone would make him a very desirable employee), and he had already mentioned himself before this that he generally works alone (_8th story arc _of _Arkham Unhinged_), and even when he has been shown to work with others as in _Arkham Origins_ the way he interacted with the other inmates indicated that he is not a good team player. I personally believe this is down to him being used to other people trying to use him, e.g. (because he can't turn to the law, and doesn't have any powerful friends to back him up) past employers have hired him to get the job done and then simply decided not pay him afterwards - thinking they can get away with it (see _Arkham Asylum: patient tape 2_) - needless to say he doesn't take kindly to this treatment.

**Quick summary of this chapter:**

Clara is still having a rough time, with not enough to eat and now on top of things the weather is also getting very cold. One night while searching for food, she stumbles across a lone stranger with a rucksack upon his back. She assumes that the stranger must have food in the bag, and seeing that he is alone, she decides to risk stealing it. But despite her desperation, she can't summon the courage to actually jump out until its too late, and ends up following him below ground to an old subway.

However the man has by this time noticed that he is being followed, and lies in wait to catch her off guard. When Clara walks into the subway, he tries to kill her to stop her from following him (*while this isn't particularly important note, I would just like to point out that this man is just a vagrant trying to survive - he was on his way with stolen goods to Joker's side of the city in hope that he would be accepted in). Clara escapes the attack, falling down into a shallow trench - just in time to escape Killer Croc's detection. Killer Croc only sees the man at first, and immediately goes in for the kill. Clara manages to avoid being noticed just long enough to escape back to the surface.

On the surface Clara is still starving and knows that the rucksack the man had is still below with Croc. She eventually reasons with herself that if she can avoid detection, then she can hopefully retrieve the bag once Croc is gone, so she goes back down again.

Killer Croc notices her almost immediately, but Clara doesn't leave - she is out of his reach and still intent on retrieving the rucksack. They end up talking a little (not that I would call it a conversation exactly, more like a series of threats and sinister remarks). Eventually though, Clara finds out that the bag contains no food at all after Killer Croc empties it. With nothing but an empty rucksack, and no reason to stick around any longer, Clara gets out of the tunnel as quickly as possible.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Just a quick reply to _Sunnycroc_'s review: _That has to be the nicest, sweetest review I've ever had! Thank you. :D Literally had me smiling for ages._

* * *

**Chapter 3**

**Dubious Deal**

It was somewhere around the end of October now. Clara had tried to keep track of the date to give herself a sense of the passage of time ever since she had arrived, but with her currently unpredictable lifestyle, she had inevitably lost count of a few days.

Summer had long since ended, but this year autumn had never started. Instead, winter had decided to arrive early. She wasn't even sure she would actually be able make it through the winter outdoors if the weather got any colder; her objective of getting out of the facility as soon as possible was greater than ever if she was not to end up freezing to death in her sleep.

Making any plans outside merely surviving the night, for the duration she had been in Arkham City, had so far been nearly impossible. The two constant issues of avoiding detection and finding food took immediate precedence over everything else. Having not yet had the time to investigate the walls of the facility fully for an escape route, but at the same time reckoning that she couldn't afford not to, Clara had incorporated scouting into her regular missions as a secondary objective when she could. So far though her escape route search had been fruitless.

So far all she had proved to herself was that the wall of Arkham City was impenetrable; taller than most buildings were, illuminated by night and guarded 24/7. The perfect solution to her problem would have been if she could find an idyllic spot where she would be able to dig her way out, and where no one would be able to see her doing so. But bare earth was hard to come by in this concrete jungle, and she had no means of digging her way out anyway.

Her thoughts had then wandered to the sea, and she wondered if escape by water might be a better solution, since she knew the walls did not extend out into the bay. But being so deep in the facility with buildings so densely packed together, Clara could not see the coastline from where she was, and hadn't since before she had arrived. It didn't really matter though; she doubted that the coast was unguarded anyway, it would have been too obvious.

Currently Clara was lying on her back in the crawl space beneath a crumbling rotten porch, the space only just high enough for her to crawl under. To one side she could see last of the sun's rays were just disappearing over the horizon, it was nearly time for her to head out. While she waited, her mind had drifted, and using a pen knife she had began carving her name into the rotten wood above her.

'What are you doing?' Dereck asked, peering over her shoulder, ignoring the fact that if he had actually been there then he would not have been able to physically stand in the cramped space that Clara currently called home. 'Come on my comedic sidekick, surely you have something better to do with your time.'

She wasn't supposed to feed the illusion, that was what they had told her at Mercy. And for a while, several months before, Dereck had stopped materialising before her, only for everything to reverse when she was placed Arkham City; much of her progress lost all at once. The hallucinations had come back – tending to appear directly after she had gone through any sort of stressful situation, which unfortunately in Arkham City was pretty much every second of every day.

Clara was supposed to ignore him.

Viciously she swiped at the carving she had started and turned her head to sneer at her brother, angry at herself for her own weakness. But there was no longer anything there for her to see, Dereck had already faded from sight; and she was alone as ever.

She sighed and put her penknife away, folding back the blade and putting it securely into one pocket. Rolling over onto her front, she began to crawl towards where decking was broken overhead, and there she paused to listen for danger. In the distance she could hear the blades of a helicopter thudding in the cold night air, and if she listened really carefully she swore she could also hear the wailing of an ambulance all the way over in regular Gotham - worlds away.

Deeming the situation as safe as it could be in an open superprison filled with convicts and maniacs, Clara moved a little further forward and peeked out through the gap in the decking to get a better look down the street.

The moon was high in the sky and darkness now mostly blanketed much of the city, she had the whole night ahead of her, but she still could afford to waste time. Seeing no one around, Clara cautiously pulled herself up and out of her hiding spot, shivering a little and brushing off some of the dirt clinging to her clothes. Creeping out onto the street, she quickly sought out shadows. Stealthily as she could, Clara set out into the city once more.

* * *

As was always the problem, she was out of food.

Once more she was back in Two-Face's territory. But since the last time she had been there the security had been noticeably tightened. The gang's strength within the city had grown and there were more people than Clara could remember from the last time. They were better armed, their clothing was less tatty - some even had bullet proof vests on - and they spoke less amongst themselves when they were on patrol. It was really rather dangerous to be anywhere near to Two-face's turf now, more so than before, but Clara had managed to steal from them once before and it was this thought that kept her going.

But things weren't working out as planned. This time she had gotten as far as the bay beside the storeroom she had stolen from previously, but it was there she had to stop. She had had to hide to avoid being seen, and had been stuck hiding for nearly an hour now. There were patrols everywhere, and they seemed to appear at random.

She was getting increasingly frustrated, her judgement beginning to lapse. She just needed to slip past...

'Hey! Who's that hiding there?!'

She had been spotted. Clara's eyes darted around the room, searching quickly for an escape route, then she picked one without much further thought and bolted, choosing to get out of the building as quickly as she could.

The cold night air hit her face as she burst through one of the back doors out of the building, it clanged loudly as it bounced back off its frame after she had passed through it.

She hit a railing outside, her shoulder taking the brunt of her weight. She reeled for a moment on her feet, then crouched and slid under the obstacle and dropped down into the street below. As she skidded and ran in the muddy streets, yells rang out behind her as the alarm went up. Her primary objective failed, Clara hoped that her newest one, staying alive for at least the next 5 minutes, would be more successful.

As she ran she tried to think up an escape plan, but it was hard to keep her thoughts straight, she knew she was being chased and as a result she was panicking, the only thing that seemed important to her right at that moment was getting as far away as posibble.

She ran and then, looking back over her shoulder for just a second, she _ran_ into someone. Instinctively she leapt back, only to promptly crash into another person standing behind her.

'What the-?!' the one she had crashed seemed just as startled as she had. She saw movement out of the corner of her eye.

Clara noticed there were actually several different people hiding in the shadows nearby, including the two she had just run into. But they were not dressed in warped plastic and grey but black and white. And she realised she had accidentally ran straight into an ambush party, into a trap, but it quickly became apparent that she wasn't the intended quarry.

'It ain't one of Two-Face's, it's a freaking street-rat!' snarled one, storming out from where he was hidden.

'Shut it, Frankie! They're going to hear us!' the men began to argue amongst themselves.

One of the group darted forward to look up the street beyond her. Frozen upon the spot, Clara's gaze darted for an escape route - danger both in front of her and behind her. There was still shouting from the direction she had came from and it was getting louder. The man she had crashed into swore.

'They know we're here! Freaking hell! The street-rat brought them right too us!'

As Two-Face's men turned the corner, the hidden men surged out of hiding to face them head on, Clara was pushed and shoved aside as they ran past, ignoring her. One of Two-face's gang had a gun, she heard as a shot rang out, then three of the Penguin's men were upon him, trying to wrestle the weapon off him.

Clara remained frozen in place for a few moments, watching as the two gangs launched into full on battle of lead pipes, knifes and fists. They were soon completely focused on fight. She turned and saw that nothing ws blocking her path beyond any more, only a straight empty street and all she had to do was run, it was all too easy. Once again her luck had paid out and she still had her own life.

Seeing the time as a good opportunity as ever to escape, she began to run again. All she needed to do now was-

A series of gun shots rang through the air behind her, and then abruptly she felt herself thrown, swerving with the motion of a stray bullet that had clipped her just beneath her right arm.

For a moment she stumbled. Then, terrified of any further shots, Clara threw herself behind the scrappy remains of an old car without tires and hid behind it. There she immediately curled into a ball. For now she felt nothing but she knew she had been hit.

She didn't know the extent of the damage, she couldn't check. The fight behind her raged on, there were several further cracks of gunfire but this ceased quite abruptly when the Penguin's guys finally managed to overcome the man holding the weapon. But Clara knew it was only a matter of time before the fight would be over - the rest of Two-Face's gang would have heard the fight, and when they appeared they would vastly outnumber the small ambush party.

And when the fight finished, their priorities would shift, and if they found her they would kill her.

She had to move.

For a moment she giggled at the irony that she had only just been escaping a mental hell to enter a physical one. Several weeks before, the staff at Mercy had said back that she was only weeks away from release, but no one had taken that into consideration when they moved her; the facility's funding was abruptly cut and they had been told move her, but that had been more than month ago now and she was no closer to being released. By law everyone within the psychiatric facilities and prisons in Gotham were to be transferred to the new Arkham City - there had even been talk of this law eventually extending out to other cities. So many newcomers died within a few days of their arrival, the TYGER guards patrolling the streets then clearing them away like trash, only for the dead to be replaced the next day by a new batch. Through it all, somehow, she was still alive.

There was no control here, no moderation or any safety. The guards were there to keep them in and nothing more. Some inmates who had tried to get out had been shot down, she had seen this with her own eyes. There was no order, only chaos. There were so many dead in the city, those that staggered off to die in alley ways, in drains and in old buildings were left lying where they fell, "ill" as when they had arrived and irrevocably dead. She hadn't seen any doctors here, nor any psychiatrists. It had to be the world's biggest joke, to call this superprison a mental health facility.

The place was more like a giant gladitorial pit, where only the strongest and wiliest would survive; Clara had known ever since she had arrived that she would not be one of the last ones standing, it was why she fought so hard to escape.

The fight had reached a crescendo, she could tell by the sounds that backup had arrived. The Penguin's guys had broken off from the fight now and were running, right back down the street in which she was hiding.

Clara pulled down upon the edges of her beanie. Her mind began to mist over in terror, knowing that she needed to act now. She planned to run ahead of the retreating gang coming her way, so as to effectively use them as a shield from any further shots fired by Two-Face's people.

Her pulse thudded warningly in her ears as she began to slide out from behind the car. She shifted to bolt out from her hiding space, whether to run for her life or to her death she wasn't sure, only to see that the Penguin's gang were already tearing past. She would have to run behind them.

One of them stumbled though, catching sight of her as she moved out onto the open street, and to her horror began to run back towards her.

'Tony! Tony, what are you doing?!' he shouted at her.

Clara, spooked, decided that she did indeed love life, turned to bolt in the other direction despite the obvious danger. But by then the strange man had reached her and had grabbed her by one arm, only then to her surprise he was pulling her along after the others.

'Tony, we need to fall back!' the stranger shouted, spittle flying from between missing teeth. Clara was too scared to object, and ran as she was pulled along. She glanced at the confused man that was convinced she was called Tony and knew that she didn't know him. He was balding with streaks of grey in what was left of his hair, one side of his face was heavily scarred but most disturbingly of all was that he was also completely missing an eye on one side, and when the light caught upon his remaining eye Clara saw that it was clouded.

'You need to keep close to the ground, Tony, and return to the museum!' he told her firmly, his grip relinquishing as they ran.

'Okay,' she replied weakly in a deep as voice as she could muster, deciding to play along for the moment as they ran. But still the stranger didn't release her, and Clara found herself wondering how well the man could hear, so she added more loudly. 'We'll meet up back at base.'

'That's my boy!' the man grinned, tobacco stained teeth bared in a grin. They were now safely beyond any of Two-Face's gang's immediate sight of view. He quickly patted her upon the back and released his grip, moving to run alongside her and the others.

Only, of course, as soon as she was released, Clara changed directions and ran away.

* * *

Seeking safety as soon as possible, Clara didn't head directly back to her usual haunt_. _Clara knew that she was still disorientated from fear, and it wasn't safe for her to stumble around on the surface any longer, it was simply too hard for her to focus in her current state of mind.

Miraculously she found a place where the ground had collapsed and crumbled to reveal the partially filled tunnel of a subway, much like the way down she had taken before - and that led on to remembering what exactly had happened last time. For a moment she hesitated. But it was then that she also remembered the relative warmth and isolation; relatively the place was safe given that she didn't run into anyone down there. It Killer Croc didn't exist or had never been placed in Arkham City, then she knew it would have been a near perfect safe haven.

But she also knew that he couldn't be everywhere at once.

She decided to take the risk, and clambered down.

Immediately she was surrounded by the relative warmth of the subway, and she felt a little better. But nothing actually changed, she was still exhausted, upset and possibly bleeding to death. As soon as she saw that no one was around, or at least in sight, she collapsed in a hissing heap against the rubble, surrounded on either side by broken pipes and crumbling bricks.

She forced herself to sit upright, taking off her jacket and gently easing up her shirt to check the extent of the damage. There was quite a bit of blood, but thankfully the bleeding seemed to be slowing, it wasn't as nearly as bad as she had first thought.

Feeling weak and shaky, she wasn't sure whether it was from shock or blood loss. She tried not to think about it.

It was then that Dereck decided to make another appearance.

'Ouch, that looks painful,' he commented, sitting down next to her. 'I don't suppose you have any bandages?'

'I don't suppose you could get me some antiseptic solution?' she grumbled back at him, unsure whether or not to be unhappy that she was imagining that her brother was actually there to help her.

'You know, if you boil some water, then that should do so as an alright cleaning solution,' Dereck suggested, but she couldn't see him any more.

'Does it look like I have any way to boil water!?' Clara snarled, wincing as she adjusted how she was sitting. Nor did she have any cloth with her, let alone clean cloth, she would have to improvise. She pulled off the ragged scarf she currently wore, being careful not to twist her torso, and she used it to dab gingerly at the wound. Then summoning her courage she pressed down over the area.

Pain flared but Clara felt no buckling nor anything hard move beneath her skin. While she was by no means certain, she believed that she had at least been lucky enough to avoid any broken bones or have any poisonous metal lodged under her skin. In fact the bullet seemed to have merely clipped her side, taking a chunk of flesh with it but not mortally wounding her. This by no means though ruled out the possibility of fractures or of later infection.

'Don't look,' she told Dereck, but he had already vanished.

She shook her head once, clearing her mind, then she raised her shirt, gripping the end of it between her teeth to stop it unravelling, and wrapped the scarf tightly around and over her chest as a makeshift bandage, so that she could apply pressure to the injury without having to hold the material down herself. She tied the ends of the scarf together, and pulled her shirt back down over it. Gingerly, she put back on her jacket and zipped it up, careful not to knock the makeshift bandage, and lay back against the uneven stone floor.

_'Just think about something nice,'_ she told herself, trying to calm her breathing, the last thing she wanted to do was to go into shock. _'Roast chicken, a warm bed, family,'_ But her thoughts were scattered and couldn't focus on one item for more than a few seconds as her side would twinge and she would be dragged back to reality. She decided to rest a little while, just a little until she had her breath back.

Only she ended up falling asleep.

* * *

Clara awoke drowsily, unconcerned and uncertain where she was at first. For a moment she couldn't understand why her mattress was so lumpy and uncomfortable, and in a daze she wondered if she had rolled out of bed sometime during the night. But when she opened her eyes she didn't see the usual blue wallpaper nor posters upon the walls, instead she saw crumbling concrete and brick. And in the distance she could see the end of a train, its wheels broken and splayed out on either of it. Even then though, it still took her a further few moments to remember that she was not in her student bedroom at Gotham University, but lying underground in the ruins of an old abandoned subway. The gritty ground pressing up into the back of her hands.

It was then the reason why she had awoken in the first place became apparent.

Frozen, she listened. The footsteps were heavy, loud, echoed and amplified by the tunnels. She could hear them coming closer and closer, louder and louder. She couldn't see anything from where she lay, but she didn't dare move either for fear of bringing attention to herself. The tunnel floor beneath her seemed to shake.

There was only one individual she had seen here that would be big enough to make that happen.

'_It can't be him, not so soon…'_ she told herself. But on high alert, her mind screamed back at her that Killer Croc was very close by.

She could only hope that he wouldn't notice her and pass by and be gone. But Clara knew she hadn't exactly hidden herself; sure she wasn't lying in the centre of the tunnel, but anyone with half a brain that might look her way would be very unlikely to miss her lying there amongst the rubble.

But she remained still, breathing as quietly as she could and listening intently.

To her great surprise, in their rush, they did appear to pass right by her. Clara breathed a sigh of relief, her body going slack for a moment. If it was Killer Croc, he sounded like he was in a hurry, she concluded by the rapid rate of the paces.

She remained where she was though, waiting until she was sure she was alone again.

Clara wondered if perhaps it had been another like the unfortunate she had met before. Someone sneaking goods away to bargain with or win favour, the underground network was so extensive under Arkham City that she couldn't see why the big three wouldn't all use it to their own advantages when it came to smuggling. Maybe it wasn't Croc.

But then the footsteps slowed and stopped.

Clara immediately froze again, there was nothing more that she wanted than to move just enough to see what the intruder was doing, but she didn't dare.

There was a sharp hissing sound like the ripping of paper, and Clara wondered if perhaps if they were tearing up a document. But some part of her already knew that this wasn't the source of the sound, because part of her recognised the sound and it filled her with terror.

The footsteps were returning, and now she was certain that the ground was indeed shaking in rhythm with the being's approach.

Her eyes darted for an escape route, but she could hear the predator was already much closer than was comfortable and she wondered frantically if she would actually even be able outrun him with such a small head start. She remembered all too vividly what had happened last time she had had a run in like this, and though it hadn't been her whom had been shredded to pieces, she had still seen the results.

Her thoughts stopped when silence fell and she knew Killer Croc was looming right over her. And there was no question as to whether she had gone unnoticed. _Why had she thought it was a good idea to come down here again?!_

She didn't dare breath. Too scared to move, Clara played dead.

Part of her illogical mind had brought up the fact that in the wild most predators would not touch carrion, which was where the term 'playing possum' had originally came from, but she had also forgotten that beggars can't be choosers and in Arkham City pretty much everyone was essentially a beggar.

Behind her ribs, her heart was beating frantically, and it was becoming increasingly harder for her to keep up the act. But somehow she managed to remain as limp as a ragdoll, even when a clawed hand hooked around her middle and she felt herself being raised up off the ground.

Fractions of a second seemed to drag on for hours as she fought to stay calm, but not even able to see her foe quite suddenly a series of images, such as Croc simply ripping her in half, popped into her mind. She remembered again quite distinctly then what had happened to the poor hapless stranger she had been tailing the week before. Perhaps it was time to incorporate senseless plan 'scream, thrash and try to escape'.

Claws prodded her jacket then, right over where the bullet had clipped her. Already on edge, she yelped and curled up at the sharp jolt of pain. Her eyes opened and with terror she saw Croc's maw only a few feet above her.

'You're not dead,' he stated, confirming the notion more to himself than her, one of his hands abruptly locking around one of her legs to hold her still. 'Let me fix that.'

'This isn't fair! Stop!' she cried out. 'You're not supposed to be interested in carrion!'

'I could smell the blood,' Croc growled down at her, she could feel his claws tightening through the thick material of her jacket. 'I know you're injured. I see you breathing, and that means, you're not dead.'

'I won't make good eating, I swear! I'm all bone and sinew!' she grit out, terrified and kicking out with her one free leg, ignoring the sting of her wound. 'So just let go of me and forget you saw me!'

'You're not my first choice,' he replied with a crackling chuckle. 'The funny thing is, I can't afford to be picky, so you'll have to do, no matter how bony.'

Realising that he was about to either break her neck or pull her into pieces, Clara tried to bargain.

'What about a deal?!' she proposed quickly, hands flying out in front of her in a vain attempt to protect herself. 'You don't have to eat me, I can get you something better!'

'And what could you possibly offer me?' Killer Croc almost sounded annoyed, but she was surprised he responded at all having expected him to ignore her and kill her on the spot.

'I err...' Clara thought desperately to come up with a response. 'I could bring you half of my next loot! I'm good at being sneaky! I've stolen from Two-Face's gang before and I can do it again! I normally steal food but I could steal something valuable if that's what you'd prefer!'

Abruptly the hand around her middle squeezed down tighter, pushing the air from her lungs. She struggled violently again when she felt the edges of her wound being stretched under the compression. She pulled frantically on his fingers in the vain hope of relieving the pressure, but the skin upon his hand was hard and thick, and she doubted if he could even feel her struggling.

'I don't reckon you steal much, let alone enough to feed me. And what would valuables be worth here?' he hissed at her, his grip not relinquishing. 'There is no one to trade with, the only things of value here are food and weaponry, and I only need the first.'

Clara knew this was true, she could barely feed herself as it was, but she really had nothing else to offer. Then she remembered how she accidentally been lured down into the subway before, when she had been following that unfortunate stranger that had ended up being Killer Croc's lunch.

'What if I could lure others down here?' she replied quickly. 'No one likes me stealing from them, they all chase me if they see me!'

Croc froze, the hand around her middle loosened a little, but then just as abruptly the grip returned and he was glaring at her.

'And what would such a promise be worth once I release you?' he questioned warningly. 'Do you think you will be able to just scurry back to the surface and you'll never see me again?'

'I don't like competition anymore than anyone else. If you picked off those I lured down here, then that rids me having to waste time losing them above ground,' she said, grinning in terror. 'And if I went back on my promise, you'd just kill me next time and that would be that.'

Killer Croc still didn't release her, but at least his grip slackened somewhat.

He was regarding her suspiciously. Clara did her best not to show her fear - looking in Croc's direction but at the same time not looking directly at him.

'What were the words you used last time...' he rumbled, prodding at the dry blood upon her jacket. 'That if you died somewhere on the surface I wouldn't be able to get you?'

'I'm not dying! They only clipped me, I was just resting down here. It's freezing up top,' she excused, suddenly concerned that he didn't think she was up to the job. 'I can get people to come down here!'

Croc didn't respond, but Clara alarmingly could feel his grip beginning to tighten again.

'I practically already brought someone to you the last time we met! That guy was following me coz I stole from him!' she lied hurriedly. 'I can do it again. I've got nothing to lose but my life, and that's exactly what I'm bargaining with!'

Abruptly she found herself falling, the grip around her body having been relinquished, she hit the ground painfully.

Clara immediately rolled over and got to her feet, holding her now aching elbow to her chest, but even standing at her tallest, Croc loomed over her without even trying.

'One chance. Don't pay up and the deal is off,' he threatened her. 'Failure means I crush your bones and skin you.'

She nodded quickly, knowing the threat was completely literal, her feet itched to run.

He regarded her out of narrowed eyes for a moment, then abruptly crouched down and leaned towards her, still glaring at her as if searching for any sign of deceit. Even crouched though, his mere presence seemed to fill up the tunnel, and somehow made him appear as if he were about to pounce. Clara stumbled back a few steps, before she could convince her shaking legs to stay still again.

'It'll have to be at night, I can't risk daylight or I will end up-' she began to say.

But it was then that the distant sound of approaching laughter came echoing down the tunnel.

Croc lost interest in her for a moment, turning to look towards the source of the sound, and for a moment Clara risked looking too and saw moving shadows stretching upon on the walls. A group of people were coming, perhaps a scouting party for one of the big three, and by the amount of sound they were making, they were pretty confident in their ability to defend themselves.

Her eyes immediately darted back to the more immediate threat when she noticed him move out of the corner of her eye. Croc had tensed, his muscles bunching and his clawed fingers curling in upon themselves.

Now faced with two potential threats, Clara felt her mind was beginning to become overwhelmed with conflicting information. She wanted to turn and run back up the tunnel to get away from the approaching patrol before they saw her, but at the same time she was worried that such a sudden action might set off Croc into ripping her to shreds.

She tried to say something but no sound left her throat - she didn't even dare breath.

Her gaze flickering back and forth nervously. Slowly, Clara began to crouch closer to the ground, and readying herself to run, deciding to ignore the quite possible consequences. Fight or flight was what the situation screamed at her, but she already knew the first option was definite suicide.

Abruptly Killer Croc snapped around to look down at her with an intense inhuman stare. She said nothing, but she really didn't need to do so to convey her wish to flee. She began to fidget, chewing on her tongue, her gaze still flickering rapidly from one thing to the next.

Croc looked away from her again, back towards the direction of the intruding group. He seemed to come to a decision, and got to his feet.

Clara leapt back, putting more space between the two of them, but there was really no need. Croc had completely redirected his focus away from her.

He braced his feet firmly against the floor, and then propelled himself into charge, thundering down the tunnel towards the incoming patrol. Clara could literally feel the ground shaking beneath her feet.

Clara immediately took this chance to run in the opposite direction, back up the tunnel. And as she fled she heard the start of terror: the yells and shouts, then a bone chilling roar reverberated in the tunnel. She heard screams and the cracking of gunshots, and she wondered if she had just made a terrible choice.

She heard Croc roar again, far away but by then she had reached the cave-in and was scrambling back out onto the surface, the old crumbling bricks and concrete stinging her fingers as she frantically pulled herself up.

When she finally got back to her hideout the first rays of sun were just appearing over the horizon.

She quickly slid under the old house and lay still, worried that the injury on her side was bleeding again. Clara slowly curled herself up into a ball for warmth, and waited for sleep to come.

* * *

A/N: I can't help but feel something is missing in this story, originally I wanted just to stick to Clara's POV throughout the fic but since going over the drafts for the future chapters I can't but help think that maybe I should throw in some of Croc's POV too? In the first draft of this story, the first chapter began with an inner monologue of Killer Croc while he was still stuck in Arkham Asylum - but I ended up cutting this out in the end coz it seemed too out of place. So erm...any thoughts?

One of the main reasons I've chosen so far to not show Croc's POV is that I feel it would lessen the impact he gives - basically he seems more dangerous and unpredictable if his POV is not given, which is the impression I want to give at least for now but won't necessarily want to do later on.

**Quick summary of this chapter:**

Clara sets out to steal from Two-Face. Things don't go according to plan and she has to flee after being spotted, only to run straight into an ambush set up by the Penguin meant for Two-Face's gang. Two-Face's and Penguin's gangs fight, Clara tries to run away during the ensuing chaos but ends up getting clipped with a stray bullet. She hides behind a car, fearing the injury is worse than it looks. She gathers her courage and tries to flee again only this time it is someone from the Penguin's gang that stops her - a strange one-eyed man who seems to believe her name is Tony, and tells her to head back to base because of her injury. Clara plays along briefly, then gets out of there as quickly as she can.

She goes below ground as she finds a hideaway down before she can get back to her usual hideout, there she tends to her wounds and rests for just a moment, but ends up falling asleep.

When she wakes up she is aware she is no longer alone. Croc in his endless patrols of the underground has tracked her down, Clara plays dead hoping that he'll go away. This fails though, and to save herself Clara is forced to make a deal, managing to convince Croc that by letting her go she'll be able to bring prey to him. However before they can come to any arrangement, it becomes apparent that one of Joker's patrols are walking around nearby. Croc breaks off to confront them, Clara takes the chance to flee.

_Next time (spoiler) = Clara inadvertently ends up joining gang._


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. Batman: Arkham (c) to DC Comics, Rocksteady Studios and whoever-else-made-it

_Sunnycroc_: regarding Croc's POV, I agree with you, I'm going to go for it in the next chapter :)

* * *

**Chapter 4**

**Double Blunder**

It was bitterly cold.

Clara rolled her shoulders, feeling the tug of her makeshift bandage over where the bullet had clipped her. She hadn't dared unwrap it since the incident, but it wasn't hurting any worse than it had been. Though sometimes, after she had been running, it hurt to breathe - but if there was something wrong she couldn't do anything about it anyway.

As she cautiously broke into another tin of food, listening all the while for anyone nearby, she tried to think of ways she could keep warmer. A fire would have been one solution, but she knew to light one would have been suicide; a beacon for every criminal and psychopath within the entire city. Putting on extra layers was also a possible solution, but it would also be cumbersome and noisy - making it harder for her to sneak around.

For the past couple of days Clara had been shivering near constantly, and wondering whether or not there might be a point when she went to sleep where she might not wake up at all. It was time to take action, she needed to consider moving again.

Right now the subway was sounding her best option. Underground and isolated from the battering winter winds, warmer than the surface. But of course that solution was also possibly suicide, it was the domain of Killer Croc.

It had been two days now, and so far she hadn't done a thing to honour their agreement.

Her argument regarding the situation with the deal was that they simply had never come to any precise agreement details. She had said she would lure someone down, she hadn't said when. Though she doubted Croc would see things the same way when they crossed paths again.

'Freezing to death might be the least painful way to die,' Dereck said. 'I mean, compared to what Croc might do to you if he realises you lied to him.'

'If I do see him again, I'll just finish off the conversation we were having last time,' she replied, though not aloud. 'Our paths are probably going to cross again whether or not I like it. There is no way I can survive much longer up here, it's getting too cold!'

Part of her hoped that it wouldn't come to that. She hoped that maybe there was a small chance that, for some reason, Croc might have spontaneously died or maybe had escaped out of the compound altogether. Rationally though, she knew this was very unlikely to have happened, and it was actually more dangerous for her to not run into him sooner so that he didn't think she had backed out on their deal, especially if she was to begin using the subway as her refuge for the winter.

'He must have to move around a lot to find any unfortunates stumbling around underground,' continued Dereck indifferently, his voice grating. 'Can't imagine many people are stupid enough to go down there once they realise who lives there.'

Clara focused her gaze on where Dereck's shadow should have been. Her brother immediately faded from view, leaving Clara to think on her own once more.

Gritting her teeth to stop them from chattering, Clara began to reconsider her options once more. And she continued to reason with herself that she was in danger of dying anyway if she stayed out in the cold - no sleep and freezing temperatures equalled incapacitating fatigue and therefore no food, let alone escape.

_'You're going to have to confront him if you go back down there. So the sooner the better!'_ she argued with herself as her stubborn feet refused to move. '_And if your agreement holds, then you can explore the subway further for a really good hideout! Very few people go down there so you'll be able to take all the time you want. There must be underground tunnel networks all over this city, what better way to navigate around without detection?'_

She had to think fast, dawn was just around the corner and she could not risk being trapped if she made the wrong decision - the streets too dangerous for her to wander in broad daylight. She was still fearful though, if Croc had since decided their deal wasn't worth it then he might well kill her if they met again. But her need to get out of the cold got the better of her though.

Clara headed out.

She headed for the 'sky-light' she had used to escape the subway previously, the only other way down she knew was dangerously close to the Penguin's territory and she didn't want to have to take such a risk when sunrise was just around the corner.

Clara slipped underground, dropping the last bit of the way when she lost her balance on the rubble, landing heavily upon her feet.

The sound echoed loudly in the tunnel, and she paused for a moment to listen - but heard nothing more. Finding herself comfortably alone, Clara made a quick estimation on where she was in her head, and turned on her heel and walked away from where she had had her last run in with Croc - fearful that she might stumble across the remains of any meal he might have had since then.

She sought out a refuge. A rockfall made a good a place as any, where yet another cave-in had occurred and the ancient wall had eroded way to the earth and rusted piping behind it. She climbed up upon the mountain of bricks and broken concrete, manoeuvring around the cave-in until she found a little hollow behind a particularly large piece of rubble.

It was as uncomfortable as anything, pointy rocks and gritty concrete everywhere, but at least it was warmer than she knew it was above ground. She listened again for any intruders, then began to do her best to blend into the background, digging her shoes into the loose earth and strewing some of the finer gravel over herself, her face and hands already grey with accumulated dirt.

Somewhere above her, she knew the sun was now rising over the city. And somewhere not very far away, the regular people of Gotham were going about their normal lives as if nothing was wrong, while she was stuck in here feeling as if she were a million miles away. Clara was too exhausted to feel any self-pity right at that moment though, and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

She awoke to the sound of the shifting of gravel and stone. With alarm she realised that the debris she was lying on was moving, avalanching down towards the ground.

Flinging her arms out, she scrambled upwards, against the movement of the rubble. There was a sharp hiss of breath below her, and Clara whipped around to look down.

In her mind she cursed. Of course her luck had run out, oh why hadn't she just stuck with the tried and trusted manner of living through the day?! It had worked so far!

Right below her was Killer Croc, he had been in the process of pushing rubble out of the way to get to her. He had paused at her sudden movement.

'Still not dead?' he asked, and Clara saw fresh wounds upon his being, several scales had been ripped right out above his brow – in their place was congealed dark blood. There were also gashes across his chest which could have only been inflicted by bullet wounds – though none of them appeared to be very deep.

Her eyes darted back up the opposite direction of the tunnel, seeking out an escape route if need be. She felt herself slipping again as the rubble moved.

'Thought you had gone and died on the surface,' he growled. 'Or thought you had backed out of our deal - I've got your scent, I can find you wherever you hide.'

'H-hey, it's not like that. I thought you had food when I last left you, it's only been a little over a day. We never completed the terms!' she hastily defended herself. 'It'll be dark in a few hours, I'll bring you something tonight!'

Croc snarled, burying his hands back into the rubble and hurling chunks of it away, and Clara felt herself moving again with the avalanching rubble. She fought, scrambling to stay out of reach, but she had been taken by surprise and was exhausted.

She involuntarily squeaked when he finally got a grasp on her, but stopped struggling, fearful of making him angrier.

'I swear, I'll bring you someone tonight,' she said quickly, holding her hands out in front of her in a vain attempt to keep him at bay. 'Just please don't eat me!'

'You're still breathing, which means you're capable, but as for the matter of keeping your promises...' Croc appeared to be weighing up whether or not to kill her on the spot, she could feel the power of his grip and tried not to wince at the pressure over her injured side, she knew she needed to act fast.

'No, look, I have this plan! Just a bit further down the tunnel, near where we last met, there is a way out onto the surface. That's where I going to climb down tonight. I'm based not far from here at the moment, and Two-Face's territory is right on my doorstep, so there is always a lot of people around. All I need to do is be spotted, run down here, they'll inspect, and then you grab them instead of me,' she explained, smiling nervously. 'We have a deal, right?'

Croc didn't look convinced, though it was hard to tell - the scales upon his face obviously made more subtle human emotion harder to read. After a few moments though, she felt his grip loosen and she was able to slide free, falling several feet before landing awkwardly on one foot.

'Tonight, you bring me someone. To this place,' he told her. 'Otherwise the next time I catch you, and I will find you, I'll kill you.'

'Of course,' she nodded frantically. 'The first person I come across, I'll bring them down.'

'I'll be waiting.'

* * *

It was already dark outside again when she emerged.

Clara, feeling quite on edge after running into Killer Croc, did not act as she normally would have and instead of going back the way she had came had gone in the opposite direction, and now found herself emerging from the subway by a different method - the more traditional way: up a series of steps and through an exit that had a placard overhead though the writing on it was blurred and rusting.

As a result, she now had no idea where she was, and felt completely disoriented.

While searching for more familiar territory, she stumbled upon an old tire dump. And knowing she could never afford to miss an opportunity, Clara began to pick her way across it, searching for anything that might be useful - putting her dangerous mission on hold for a few minutes.

Clara reckoned she had a fairly good mind map of the part of the compound she frequented. She knew the routes the guards always took, she knew how far out Two-Face's patrols went when they weren't out on a mission and that their distribution was greatest on the side facing Penguin's territory. She didn't know much about the Penguin's gang's habits except that they rarely ventured far from their territory but when they did they normally moved en masse – Clara had seen a pack of around 30 of them once - the main benefactors of the food drops in the area after Two-Face.

Abruptly she lost her footing and struck her arm upon an outcrop of metal.

'Argh! Fff-!' she grit her teeth to prevent herself from making any more noise, besides the fresh pain in her arm she feared that her injury on her side had been knocked as well.

She could already tell there was going to be a bruise. And the pain seemed to be getting worse, even though it couldn't be. _'It's all in your head!'_ she repeated to herself. _'Blue skies and a gentle summer breeze, warm sunlight and -argh!' _She shuffled backwards and braced against the tires, wishing she could bury herself under them, and tried to concentrate on her breathing.

But memories came to her nonetheless, and though they did not manifest in the real world they appeared before her mind's eye, and no manner of blinking would blur them away:

* * *

_Her hearing was the first thing to return, she could hear hushed voices and the gentle rhythmic tapping of footsteps, but she made nothing of them because she was not fully awake. She smelt the sharp scent of disinfectant. Something touched her arm, and immediately she remembered the fear._

_She sat up abruptly, eyes wide open to world that momentarily appeared as a blur of white and green but then resolved into a bright white hall, lined with beds. She didn't know where she was, she tried to stand but her arm was bound in some way, and it hurt to move._

_'Easy, calm down,' said someone above, gently pushing her back down again. 'You're safe now.'_

_Clara's vision refocused and she saw her mother and father standing by her side._

_She blinked and stared, trying to figure out what was going on. Her cheek stung, there was a large wedge of cotton wall plastered over it; the material tugging at her face whenever she moved. She didn't recognise where she was though she knew that it was a medical ward._

_The mattress dipped as her mother sat down beside her, Clara saw her father moving to stand next to her now that she was awake._

_'What happened?' Clara asked, unable to understand why she was in a hospital. Had she been in a car accident? She had only got her licence the year before but she didn't reckon she was that bad of a driver. For a moment she lay in a daze, trying to remember._

_'They said you fell down a staircase,' her mother replied quietly. 'You've broken your left arm and bruised yourself quite badly in the fall. You'll be bed bound for a while but you're alive, and that's all that matters.'_

_And then without warning she was being hugged fiercely, her mother crying freely by her ear._

_'It's good to see you alive, Clara,' her father said, obviously close to tears himself. 'We were so worried.'_

_'What happened?' she asked again, not recalling the stairs but now remembering Arkham Asylum. 'I was talking to Dereck...then one of the doctors said we were being gassed...'_

_'There was a major security breach at the asylum last night,' her father replied, then gestured at the wards. 'Most of the people in here are survivors from the same event. It was on the news and everything, but we weren't even aware of it until this morning when I turned the radio on at breakfast. We thought you were sleeping in, but then we saw your car was still missing and you were no where in sight. And we couldn't reach Dereck on the phone-'_

_'And even then we couldn't find you for hours, since Arkham was in such a state,' her mother cried. 'It was only because they didn't recognise you on the registry that they called for us to identify you. They found Dereck first, we were so worried they would never find you...'_

_'Excuse me, Miss Dawson?' a doctor with a clipboard interrupted, he stood smiling awkwardly at them from behind a pair of thick glasses. 'I am Dr. Bailey, I would like to run a quick psychological and health profile. I just need to make sure you are well enough to be checked out of the ward.'_

_'I can carry her to the car, if need be,' Clara's father said, stepping into the conversation. 'I would rather that she isn't stressed any more than need be.'_

_'I will skip straight to the point then,' Dr. Bailey nodded, and looked directly at Clara. 'Miss Dawson, you injuries are not dangerous, they will recover with time, you are one of the luckier ones. But I must ask you of the circumstances that you encountered before the incident, standard procedure for everyone we rescued off the island. Is this okay with you?'_

_Clara nodded slowly, trying to recall the nights' events a feeling of dread filled her but at that moment she couldn't remember why._

_'Good. Alright, so it says here that you were interning on the island as part of the Medical degree you were taking at Gotham University. Yes, yes, your parents and Arkham staff have already informed us. Could you tell me exactly what happened that night? What were you doing so late at night in the Medical Facility? I understand that the agreement with the university only covered daylit hours, you should have left hours before.'_

_'I was...I was waiting in the staff room,' she responded slowly, frowning as her mind fought to recall any further memory. 'My older brother works there as a forensic psychologist, you see, he assesses new arrivals in Intensive Treatment. But his car had broken down, and he knew I was there, so I was supposed to be giving him a lift home. I was waiting in the staff room, but then a doctor said we were being gassed. I th-think we tried to get out...'_

_'Could you elaborate? Anything at all would help us. I used to work in Arkham, there are several potential sources of noxious gas in its facilities.'_

_Clara shuddered, wrapping her uninjured arm around her shoulders. 'One of the doctors, he said there were maggots in the airvent, he was scratching his arms trying to get rid of them.'_

_'And what happened then?'_

_'...I really don't know,' she replied uneasily. 'The office just suddenly gone, the roof was gone, and everyone was gone. But I wasn't alone, I started seeing these things, like monsters, all around me!'_

_'And then what happened?'_

_'My teeth fell out!' Clara cried remembering, immediately she raised her hand to her mouth, but to her relief and amazement she found this was not true. She still had teeth. And when she looked at her hands she still had nails, still had skin. Apart from the blood and grime beneath her nails, she looked no different than normal - but that wasn't what she remembered from only hours before. 'I was rotting, falling apart, everything was rotting! All around me...'_

_'Please, is this really necessary?' her father pleaded with the doctor, placing a hand upon Clara's shoulder._

_'I am merely trying to gather the facts, Mr Dawson.' Dr. Bailey replied. 'I am now nearly certain that the event experienced by Miss Dawson was down to one particular patient who has been known to use a potent substance which he simply calls 'fear gas'. Your daughter will probably need intensive psychiatric therapy, the effects of this drug have been known to wreck havoc on the psyche. Arkham has lost several good doctors and patients to its effects, but the good news is that she has survived. Those that survive and then receive appropriate care have a good recovery record. Many have accidentally ended their own lives while under its influence, falling down those stairs and knocking yourself out probably saved your life.'_

_Clara suddenly recalled an image, a memory, of Dereck swinging a fire axe at one of the windows in the office as he tried to get out, but he lost his grip and it fell to the ground. For some reason this memory disturbed her enough to physically hurt her. It was then that she became acutely aware of the absence of her brother by her parents' side._

_'Where is Dereck? Is he alright?!' she asked, straining her neck to see down the hall, perhaps Dereck was nearby and was just keeping his head down until he knew the doctor was done talking to her._

_'…' Her mother inhaled deeply but said nothing. Her father frowned and looked to the ground._

_'Clara, working at a place like that is dangerous, there will always be hazards. You know as well as anyone that we didn't want you interning there to begin with. Last night was an example of what can happen sometimes does happen,' he said to her slowly. 'A lot of people were injured or seriously hurt last night.'_

_'Where is he? Is he here? Is it bad?!'_

_'Rescue operations weren't able to make it in there for hours, the asylum was overrun, no one could get in or out. Communication was terrible at best...' he shook his head and clenched his fists, then raised his gaze to look sorrowfully at her. 'When they found him...well there was just nothing they could do. He...he didn't make it Clara.'_

_She felt as if the blood in her veins had turned to ice, her heart plummeted in her chest._

_'H-how did he die?' she asked shakily, face blank._

_'Clara, sweetie, please, we really don't need to talk about these things right now.' her mother pleaded._

_'How did he die?! He was right next to me!' she screamed._

_'The lunatics at the asylum beheaded him!' cried out her mother. 'Those animals beheaded my baby! Mine, my only son. My Dereck!'_

_Clara didn't reply. The memories began to come pouring back, memories of a terrible truth that partially contradicted what she had just heard. Blankly she stared ahead, but she could hear her pulse ringing in her ears once more, slowly getting louder and louder._

* * *

Conscious thought bubbled to the surface when she spotted something moving out of the corner of her eye. In her stupor she hadn't noticed the encroaching danger. She kicked out and scrambled to escape but they were already blocking her way, rough hands grabbed her arms and steel hard shoes kicked her legs out from under her. She would have fallen flat upon the ground if it were not for the man holding her arms behind her back. As she struggled, packing her legs beneath her in a futile attempt to launch herself free, a second man leaned in close to inspect her.

'Ah forget this, it's another freaking vagrant!' the man concluded after a few moments. 'This has to be like the third one already. You think Two-Face lets them wander around as a distraction or something? Or you reckon he's really that bad at pest control?'

'Who cares, an intruder is an intruder,' replied a third, surveying the street behind them. 'We get rid of him like the last one and return to patrol. Word is that Two-Face's guys have got their hands on a weapons crate, we need to be on alert.'

'I know that you-'

Clara struggled again, this time receiving a hard blow to the back of her head for her efforts. She saw stars and then she tasted the pavement, having been thrown forward.

'Let's get this over with,' one armed with a crow bar was bearing down on her.

'You reckon he's got any smokes on him? The boss is rationing them like crazy now,' said the one who had first grabbed her, inadvertedly getting in the way as he crouched at her side, hands reaching to search her pockets.

Clara cursed in her mind as her vision danced from the jarring blow but she could still make out the black and white symbols printed upon their clothing - the Penguin's gang - at least she now had some idea of where she was.

'Get out of the way!' commanded the crowbar wielder. 'I need to finish him off quickly before the sound draws any unwanted attention!'

Abruptly one of the other men who Clara hadn't been able to see clearly from where she was, leapt out and cracked the crowbar wielder across the forehead with a sharp upper cut. Her attacker stumbled from the blow, dropping his weapon and cradling his head, behind them the others seemed to be startled too at the unexpected attack. The man looking for cigarettes, fell away from her in surprise, scrambling to his feet.

'One-eye, what the hell?!'

Clara recognised her saviour as the strange near-blind man from before. Clara shook her head, and ignoring the dizziness that came with the motion of lurching to her feet, she spied out her environment and picked an escape route. No sooner had she tried to run though, than the one-eyed man was right behind her.

'Tony!' barked One-eye. 'Get back here!'

Abruptly his grip was around her upper arm, feeling near to being ripped from its socket; despite appearances the stranger was ridiculously strong. Still she fought to free herself, but One-eye just pulled her closer and locked a second hand around her shoulder, his rank breath practically in her hair.

'You're not running off again, Tony!' he yelled at her. 'Don't do it just to spite your old man again, I won't be tricked so easily every time.'

Clara froze in place, terrified as she tried to discern the insanity around her. Tony? Was he mistaking her for someone else?

'Eh, what's this? One-eye...?' one of the men started as he approached to investigate, while the fuming injured man glared from a safe distance.

The others began making their way over as well, talking amongst themselves.

'One-eye, who is this?' asked one, but in such a manner that Clara could tell he already thought he knew the answer.

'Why it's Tony, my son of course,' replied the one-eyed lunatic, turning to face them and slapping Clara proudly upon her shoulder but never letting go of her arm. 'You've met him before, haven't you? He helped us rob that store back in Bludhaven.'

'Yeah, I remember,' the man replied, but he didn't really sound like he did, and he was now looking at Clara suspiciously. 'Looks very young to be in here.' the man commented, leaning in closer to peer at her.

Clara immediately frowned and automatically tried to hide behind One-eye, she was now terrified of being identified as female, which would be a dead giveaway to the lie that One-eye currently believed. She lacked the facial hair or even the stubble that she had seen nearly all other prisoners here in the city had, she hoped it wasn't a dead giveaway...perhaps that was why they thought she looked so young. Clara immediately tried to think up an age that would explain her lack of facial hair, but One-eye beat her to it.

'He's 16, so yeah, on the young side. But mighty cunning and swift.' defended One-eye. 'He's in here for a reason, just like the rest of us, so don't underestimate him. You know that.'

The man shrugged his shoulders and looked away, then whispered to another man next to him: 'Just play along, he's done this before.'

One-eye apparently didn't hear him, his one murky eye was now focused solely on Clara, and he was smiling. 'You don't need to worry, lad, the Penguin's got a good set up, everyone's fed and pretty soon we'll own this city, no more running. I can look after you now.'

Then without warning, One-eye sharply cuffed her across the ear. Hard.

'Don't you ever hide behind me unless you're about to die, boy,' he whispered gruffly. 'It makes you look weak, and the Penguin don't like weak.'

Clara nodded mutely, not daring to move. Only one thought was going through her mind though: What the hell was going on?!

One-eye turned to others. 'Alright then, off we go, lads. We're done here, right?'

There was some angry muttering, the man with the crowbar looked as if he wanted to kill One-eye but apparently didn't dare in the presence of the rest of the patrol.

'It was a recon mission,' replied the largest of the men, broad shouldered and with a black-and-white mask hiding much of his face, presumably in charge of the patrol. 'We're done here, but One-eye I won't have you stirring up any more shit like you just pulled on Avery! You understand?!' Clara didn't miss his doubtful gaze in her direction, but One-eye appeared completely oblivious and his strange attitude was becoming more and more unnerving by the minute - and he still hadn't let go of her arm, so she couldn't run.

'Of course, sir, as long as he don't go starting none,' One-eye's reply nearly set off the man with the crowbar completely, but he stopped dead in his tracks when the big leader intervened; wordlessly aiming a shotgun his way in warning.

For a moment the big leader then glared over his shoulder at One-eye, as if daring him to make a stupid move, but the latter seemed to know he had said enough and didn't say anything further.

'Alright, let's clear out,' stated the leader eventually. 'The next patrol will be here in a moment, and we don't need to leave this place warm for them. Our friend _Tony_ can come with us to the museum, but after that's it's the boss' decision.'

* * *

They made their way back towards the museum, Clara in unwilling tow.

She was considering trying to make a break for it again, but she wasn't sure if she had the strength though, the stress of the whole situation had exhausted her; her heart beating wildly in her chest.

As they travelled onwards, Clara noticed that the streets this side of town were not as dark as most were, some were actually illuminated with spotlights. It made it easier for her to see the Penguin's men wandering around nearby - and there were a lot of them!

By this point she knew that she couldn't back out, could no longer escape, the next few hours of her life would be her biggest gamble yet but one – she was now consciously realising – that could ultimately pay off; though the odds, of course, were not at all in her favour. If she was accepted in then the food problem would sort itself out, and then she might even be able to find out more about the walls and other escape routes through other people. At the same time though she couldn't help but wonder if they would simply kill her on the spot as soon as the strange one-eyed guy had finished his game or realised that she wasn't who he thought she was.

The most likely conclusion of tonight, she knew, was death - but then when wasn't it now?

They then passed in through the rather grand entrance to a museum, all around hung raggedy banners displaying the white and black symbol of the Penguin. In fact the symbol was posted pretty much everywhere, stamped upon the walls, the men's clothes and some even had it tattooed onto their skin - Clara felt very much out of place.

They headed indoors, past several display cabinets and sets of stairs, here several of the patrol branched off and went their own way. Clara though, was dragged along after the few that didn't, continuing down a flight of stairs before veering off through one of the many halls which opened up into a hall.

The hall was immense, there was a high ceiling supported by stone pillars and arches, and dotted about the place were several stuffed polar bears. In the centre of the room was a long table, a throng of people gathered around towards one end of it.

The place was awash with sound, some sort of celebration Clara gathered, she could hear the raucous laughter of someone at the head of the table but could not see them from where she was due to the gathering. There were other people than those at the table, scattered about the room carrying crates. Nearest to the door was a red and white deckchair, leaning in which was a man that looked half asleep, an assault rifle at his feet.

'Hey One-eye, there you are, ya crazy old coot! What took you?' shouted the man, swaying a little as he sat up abruptly, he gave a mock bow to the rest of their party and nearly fell out of his chair: 'And I missed you lousy slugs too, of course.'

'What the big racket about, Jim?' asked the leader. 'You been drinking?'

'It's that's funny Dr. Strange guy, he's just given the boss a big shipment of ammunitions. Can you believe it?' Jim reeled a little, gave up on sitting straight and flopped back into the tatty deckchair, and slurred: 'You slugs all missed it, while you were out on patrol, flippers has been throwing a party. Drinks for everyone!'

'Ah, get back to your job, Jimmy,' replied the leader, losing interest and moving off towards the head of the table, leaving the rest of the group to stay where they were.

Jim apparently didn't hear him, and was currently fumbling with a packet of cigarettes. After a moment he turned to a man sitting beside him on pile of crates. 'You got a light? I'm all out of matches.' But his friend, a man with a shock of black hair and a hooked nose was looking intently at Clara.

'Is this one going to fight in the pits? You gotta be kidding me,' the man cackled. 'Way too scrawny, what were you thinking?'

Clara forced herself to hold her head high this time, but she could not bring herself to look the stranger in the eye, with every second that passed she was becoming more and more convinced that she was going to die.

'You watch your mouth, Frankie, this is my boy Tony. He's still got growing to do, and hasn't been eating too well recently, he fill out soon enough,' One-eye defended.

'Your boy, I thought he died ages a-' Frankie stopped midsentence as Jim - apparently experiencing a moment of lucidity - whacked him sharply on the elbow, shaking his head. Jim, the guard in the deckchair, then turned to face One-eye himself.

'You do remember the pit fights, right?' he asked a little groggily. 'The Penguin isn't just taking in anyone anymore, not since that Lester Kurtz bailed on us. You realise that they will make "Tony" fight to the death? Maybe take him back where you found him,' he suggested, almost gently, but Clara could tell by the many suspicious eyes of the others that were now upon her that any kindness present in the suggestion was not meant for her.

'Tony isn't going anywhere, I only just found him again,' One-eye replied curtly, then said to her: 'You'll fight in the pits, won't you my boy?'

'I-I'm half starved, how can I be expected to compete,' she weakly tried to excuse herself, keeping her voice as deep as she could - it was the first time she had spoken in their presence and she could only hope that it wasn't a dead give away.

'And so will be most of those trying out for a place,' replied Frankie, his sunken sallow face splitting into an eerie grin. 'Fair is fair.'

'Yeah, even if you're a bit short,' added Jimmy laughing, apparently comparing Clara's height to Frankie's who stood at least a head taller than everyone else present, then stopped abruptly with a yell when something loudly cracked across the back of his head.

'A little short, 'ey? And who would ya happen to be talking about, Jimmy old boy?' asked a snarling heavily accented voice.

Everyone behind Clara abruptly stood to attention, she quickly copied them before she even understood what was going on.

In front of them stood a short, balding man with his hands resting upon the end of an umbrella. Clara did a double take when she noticed what first appeared to be a monocle was actually the end of a glass bottle portruding out of the man's left eye-socket. She immediate realised that the person standing before her had to be none other than the Penguin himself, crime-lord and one of the most dangerous people in the whole of Arkham City. Somehow, Clara felt herself growing even more terrified.

'Nobody sir, I was just saying I don't think this newcomer is going to make it,' squeaked Jim, hands raised above his head defensively, eyeing the end of the umbrella his boss had just struck him with wearily.

The Penguin sneered and looked over at them. Behind him stood two bodyguards, and the leader of the patrol she had just been caught by. To her surprise there was also a woman, wearing a pinstripe suit, a secretary of some sort she assumed.

'Oh, you're still alive,' the Penguin drawled upon catching sight One-eye. 'There was rumours you had croaked.'

'I'm still here sir, and I bring with me a volunteer,' One-eye replied, smiling uneasily, slapping one hand down upon Clara's shoulder.

'I already wrote you off,' Penguin muttered rather loudly, ignoring him, and then he gestured for the secretary to write something down. He then turned to Clara who was struggling not to shake, she wasn't sure that she wasn't though. 'And who the bloody hell are you then?'

'Tony, they call me Tony,' she managed to grit out. 'I transferred from Mercy's Psychiatric Ward.'

Several people chuckled around her, and Clara wondered what she had said wrong.

'Ya know, most newcomers normally say they are from Blackgate or Arkham Penitentary, whether they actually are or not,' said Penguin, grinning nastily behind his cigar. 'But I have to admit I like your honesty, even if in doing so you revealed ya might be a liability. So what did they have you in for? You a nasty or a nutcase?'

'I knocked the teeth out of some guy's head, they said I didn't know what I was doing, but I did. So I got put in the madhouse,' Clara made up on the spot, she was surprised by the calmness in her voice for her heart felt like it wanted to leap out of her chest.

'Anger issues, eh? Well rest assured if you act like that around here, the disciplining with be a lot harsher that what you've experienced and-hang on,' The Penguin paused to look between Clara and One-eye. 'Did ya says you name was Tony? Aw shite, not another one.'

Clara looked uneasily up at One-eye and then looked to the others, trying to make out what was going on.

'You know, One-eye, you always gets yourself in a right proper mess,' the Penguin said, almost disbelievingly. 'It's going to be the end of ya one day, and I can't say that I'm not looking forward to it. Now get out of here, I want to have a word here with 'Tony'.'

'But-' One-eye began, but when one of Penguin's bodyguard stepped out and fixed him with a glare he quickly backed down. 'Alright, I'll be in the mess hall, see you later Tony.'

The Penguin turned back to her immediately. 'Alright then, spit it out. What are you doing here?' he barked.

'I just wanted to join, my father said-'

'He's not your father, you and I both know that,' the Penguin concluded, shoving her with the end of his umbrella roughly, his bodyguards loomed over her. 'You're not the first 'Tony' he has brought back with him from the streets, though the first in Arkham City so far. The real Tony got run over many years ago during a heist. Old One-eye's not right in the head, he didn't start out as one but he is crazy now and is beginning to become a right pain in the arse.'

'My name is Tony,' Clara replied boldly. 'And I am from Mercy's psychiatric ward, perhaps I am not related to One-eye, but I'm hard working and would make a good employee. Turning me away would be turning down a great opportunity.'

The others laughed, but Clara kept her head held high - as she knew her life depended on the next few moments going smoothly.

'Very brazen, ain't cha?' the Penguin stated, then chuckled and struck her in the stomach with the end of his umbrella strong enough to knock the breath from her body, but she managed to stay standing tall. 'I admire that, but I don't think it's a desired quality in this trade. I can tell just by looking at you that you'd come off worse in a fight against any of my boys. I need strong men, one's I can rely on. So tell me, if not muscle, what can you offer? I need smart and strong, but not too smart, heheheh!'

'I'm quiet and quick, I can scout out ahead of patrols and report back without being seen,' she said and then added, bluffing quickly. 'I know my way around Two-Face's territory like the back of my hand.'

'What about the Joker's?'

'I learn fast. And best of all,' she added, realising in that moment that she was sealing her fate whether for good or for worse. 'I'm disposable. If I die then you don't lose a thing.'

'Hah, I like your way of thinking, _Tony_. You're in. So what do you say? You say yes, of course!' he told her and then turned away.

'Okay boys, we will humour our old pal One-eye one last time.'

* * *

A/N: Personally I'm not 100% happy with this chapter at the moment, but since I've already written up to the 11th chapter (draft only, not spell checked or anything) in this direction it's the way it's going to stay. Originally Clara joined the Penguin's gang as soon as the 2nd chapter but I decided I had to expand upon the time before this so that when she met Killer Croc later on she wouldn't be instantly killed.

**Quick summary of this chapter:**

Clara slips below ground seeking shelter as above ground its beginning to get too cold as winter moves closer. She sleeps for a mere few hours before Killer Croc finds her again. He is a little angry as he is suspicious that she deliberately lied that last time they met to escape, but she manages to convince him that she'll fulfil her end of the deal that night. Croc lets her go for now.

Having become disorientated while underground, Clara emerges to find that she isn't certain where she actually is. While trying to figure out where she is, Clara slips and hits her arm. The pain is familiar to when she broke her arm the year before and she experiences a flashback to when she was in hospital immediately following the Arkham Asylum breakout. It is revealed that she was an intern at the Medical Facility on the island as a result of summer placement - as part of the Gotham University's Medical degree program - and that on the night of the break out she was exposed to fear toxin. While under its influence she fell down a staircase, broke her arm and knocked herself unconscious, but in the meantime her brother was killed.

Back in the present, Clara realises that she has run straight into one of Penguin's patrols. Initially they are going to kill her but then the strange one-eyed man from before defends her, convinced she is someone called Tony - it soon becomes apparent that Tony is the name of the man's son who was killed in a vehicle related incident several years before, and he appears to be quite delusional. To save herself, Clara decides to play along.

She is more or less forced to return to the Penguin's headquarters by One-eye. There fortunately enough, the Penguin seems to be in a good mood and is on good terms with One-eye, he decides to humour his old colleague and allows Clara to stay on as Tony - but hints that she is not the first 'Tony', and that none of them have ever lasted very long.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Stumbling**

He was starving, always starving, ever since he had found himself in this walled off portion of the city; like a trap he had gone in and now found he couldn't get out. A hunger which he found barely sustainable in this prison. But just as sure as he would never escape his condition nor could he escape Arkham City.

In the gloom of the abandoned tunnel, Killer Croc sat hunched against the wall, glaring through the shadows. The fresh wounds upon his forearms and shoulders stinging - he had attempted to snatch someone off from the bridge, but he hadn't known about the snipers stationed above until they were taking potshots at him. Living in Arkham City was an endless cycle, but one he was not willing to quit, of hunting and killing - mindlessly like an animal - and then hiding. He would not roll over and die, like they all wanted him to.

It had been over a _week_ now, and the ill chosen deal he had tried to strike had fallen through - he hadn't seen or smelt any trace of the little lying rat since. Everyone lied to get what they wanted, this fact was not new to him, but it made him no happier.

He really shouldn't have expected any better.

He had known at the time, and knew now, that he should have just snapped her neck and been done with it. But he was starving, desperate even, such an opportunity had never come along before - everyone he crossed with paths now either attacked him or ran away, no one tried talking. Very few came down here anymore, not since word had gotten out that he had moved in, and those that did were armed with guns. While his thick skin protected him adequately from most gun wounds, his enemies always seemed to aim for his face - he was not completely invulnerable and knew that one stray bullet might mean permanent blindness.

It was for the same reason that he usually didn't dare wander around on the surface, he presented too big of a target, and everyone was everywhere and they were all his enemies.

He looked up abruptly as he heard the distant thunder of feet. There was a scrap going on, he could hear the yells. Someone was below ground again, someone had dared trespass, and there sounded like there were several of them. Instinctively he rose to his feet and began to make his way over, there was no question in his mind, all he knew was that he was starving and some fools had decided to take the wrong path tonight.

They would regret it, and he would feast.

* * *

_Earlier that night..._

'What is Flippers thinking sending us out here? This is Joker's territory, if we get caught we're done for,' complained someone from the back of their group.

'Shut it.' hissed their big leader, Al, glaring back at the lot of them. 'And keep your eyes peeled. We're nearly there.'

The night before, three men has been sent to snoop around the outskirts of Joker's territory, on a reconnaissance mission. One of them had reported back to the Penguin over radio, saying they had struck gold, but since then nothing more had been heard of them.

Everyone in their right mind suspected immediately that they were dead, but the Penguin, already in a foul mood, had decided to send a group of them out anyway to find out what had happened. It was practically a suicide mission, Clara knew, the idea of which should have terrified her, but she found herself strangely numb to the idea - there was no option of not going through with it, not if she didn't want to be shot on the spot for treason.

'-ony.' Clara jolted out of her daze, realising that someone was speaking to her; everyone else had stopped walking. 'Hey street-rat, it's your turn now!'

'My turn for what?' she asked dumbly, feeling the heat rise in her face, she honestly couldn't remember what they were talking about. Damn it, if they didn't all look terrifying to her, but after a week working alongside them now, she was beginning to get used to it.

'To go ahead, what else?' grouched Avery, he still blamed her for One-eye's attack on him previously. 'You see, the team don't think it's very clever for all of us to go off into uncharted territory so quickly. We might _all_ get shot. But you, all sneaky and fast, not so likely to die, see? So just scout out ahead, okay? Don't want Penguin to send us to the big man downstairs.'

Behind them the rest of the patrol was falling back into hiding in the shadows.

Clara nodded simply, knowing there was no point in arguing. This was what she had agreed to. She turned back to the face direction they had been heading, and quickly scuttled off ahead, a walkie-talkie secured in one pocket.

This was what always happened, and she felt kind of stupid having asked anything at all. Scout was her role, it was the role she had suggested and practically speaking it was probably the only one she would be any good at - but this didn't mean she liked it. She did realise that this was inevitable, and that if she did not pull her weight the others might decide that they did not want her around any longer.

Despite his apparent fatherly concern on her welfare regarding where she lived, One-eye had nothing against "Tony" risking her life on a daily basis, if anything he was proud.

Her "father" - as One-eye was still convinced he was - was unpredictable to say the least, more than once she had seen him snap at others, often swinging abruptly between different moods without warning. He was apparently a paranoid schizophrenic, that was what one person had told her, apparently the only reason Penguin even kept One-eye around anymore was because of his loyalty and long history with the gang.

Most of the time, the type of jobs Clara was sent on just involved running to drop off points for supplies. They sent her ahead as a scout often, while they waited back and listened. If she wasn't shot, which she hadn't been yet thankfully, then they would carry on with their mission.

One-eye was not sent on most of these missions, he tended to hang back at the museum and carry boxes around on account that he was nearly blind, all the while muttering to himself. He would greet her and talk to her when he was around, and stayed close to her on missions when they worked together, but he also had a nasty tendency to swat at her if he felt she wasn't behaving as she should. And he constantly talked about being watched, which was unnerving to say the least, but at least the others didn't dare bother her when he was around. She knew she still had to learn whom to trust and when to avoid others within the gang in the future.

She kept the name Tony, though no one really believed this was her name. Apparently there had already been a series of Tonys that One-eye had dragged in, they had all either run away or gotten themselves killed under his watch. Things didn't look particularly bright but what Clara really did appreciate though was the availability of food – though its quality and quantity left much to be desired.

And she no longer needed to stay out in the cold.

So she survived, but to do so she had to work, through which she could just as easily lose her life as retain it.

'Coast is clear,' she radioed back as soon as she had reached a deserted storeroom, and she quoted the name of the building back to her team leader.

'You see any sign of snipers, or possible lookouts?'

'It's all clear, but I-,' Clara decided not to voice her suspicions at the lack of activity, fearing rebuttal, perhaps being called a coward. 'No, I don't see no one.'

* * *

For a moment Clara stared with the others at the three men they had been sent to find, all three were not bound but they weren't moving either - all of them were very much dead, writing carved into their bare chests.

_'The joke is on you!'_

'It's a trap! Get out!' yelled their leader.

No sooner had he said this before the door behind them began to slide shut, and green gas began to pour in from vents in the ceiling.

The group scrambled to get out, in their wild fear there was no cooperation, everyone barged to get out first. Clara honestly thought she was going to be crushed to death, but having naturally been cautious she had hung back and was closer to the door. But even then she barely made it out, leaping at the last second so that her momentum would carry her on once she hit the floor, only just managing to slide out. The last man behind her though wasn't so lucky, he copied her move but was just a few seconds too slow, his hand was crushed beneath the door and he was trapped.

'Leave him!' shouted their leader over their trapped comrade's pained yells. 'We can't do anything, and he'll draw off the enemy while we escape!'

And to Clara's horror, but not to her surprise, they all ran on without so much as a backward glance. Only Clara herself looked back and cringed inside as the doomed man shouted curse after curse at them. The only comfort she could give herself was if she had had any other option, then this would not be the lifestyle she would have chosen.

They ran back the way they had came, only to find the warehouse they had passed through before was no longer empty. There was no one immediately behind them though, so thankfully it seemed that they were not being pursued yet, though hiding seven people was no easy feat either.

All seven of them were crouched silently behind a pile of empty crates. Clara was worried, not only because of the Joker's men but of her own team - they glancing amongst themselves, then looking back to her, it was almost as if she could read their minds, she knew immediately that they were going to ask her to play bait and draw their enemies away. Terrified at this prospect, she adamantly refused to make eye contact with any of them before anyone could ask her anything, she edged silently away from the main huddle to hide behind a pile of old tires

It was just then when one of Joker's thugs was passing by, when without warning, One-eye went berserk.

'Get out of there!' he yelled, lurching forward and out of his hiding spot. 'Get out of the way, Tony!' and caught her in a flying tackle, sending their cover of crates and tires toppling. And alerting everyone within the vicinity of exactly where they were.

Momentarily dazed from the fall, Clara caught a brief sight of her team fleeing before she heard the crack of guns. She scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could and ran after them, skirting around the fresh corpse of one of her fallen team members as she fled.

* * *

When they finally got back to the subway, there was only six of them left, one of whom was bleeding from his shoulder. Clara stuck close to One-eye, but was torn at doing this because she could practically feel the fierce aggression already directed his way, some of which was also at her – and she still didn't understand what had happened.

They were taking the subway back as it was the only route that bypassed the bridge to the Joker's land, which was no doubt heavily guarded. It was the way they had traveled in, and it was the way they were traveling out.

Clara's thoughts had immediately drifted to Killer Croc when she had first heard that they would be using this route, and it had worried her. She knew very well that she had broken her promise, and it was pretty much safe to assume that she had a lifelong enemy now. So far though, he hadn't shown, despite the considerable amount of noise the patrol must have made in passing through, she could only hope that with the patrol's numbers the cannibal would be wary and stay well away until they were out again.

'Do you want to explain exactly what the hell happened back there?' shouted one of them at One-eye.

'The enemy spotted us,' One-eye replied blatantly, completely unconcerned. 'I don't understand what this has to do-'

'You leapt out into the open, screwing us, and our mission, over completely!' yelled Avery, spittle flying from his mouth in his rage. One-eye eyed him nonchalantly for a moment, then promptly knocked him to the ground with a crushing blow to the head. There were several yells of fury and suddenly a scrap was in full swing as two of the downed man's friends sprang to his defense.

A blade quickly appeared in One-eye's hands.

'Stop this now!' roared Al, asserting his authority by drawing a handgun from inside his jacket. 'We are not some mindless rabble like Joker's rats! One-eye, you're going to have to explain personally to Penguin what exactly you did tonight! The rest of you, chill the hell out! We've got injured, and unless you want to join their ranks I would advise a _little_ cooperation!'

The brawl split up and One-eye's blade disappeared back into his pockets. Clara eyed the lot warily, keeping a fair distance between herself and the nearest clenched fist. Other than a few bruises from being unexpectedly tackled by One-eye back in the warehouse, she was uninjured and would prefer it stayed that way.

Her face and fingertips prickled, terror doing funny things to her circulation, she was doing the best to keep a straight face though, even so she was near hyperventilating. She had seen death again tonight, she could have just as easily died herself - though it wasn't the first time - still it didn't help that she didn't trust any of her 'comrades' as far as she could throw them.

Something clattered loudly down one of the tunnels nearby, and hoots of laughter abruptly became audible behind them.

'They are still chasing us?' shouted the injured man in disbelieving despair.

Sure enough, seconds later, a large group of Joker's men came hurtling down the tunnels towards them. Though they came to a standstill for a moment, leering and jeering just a dozen meters away when Penguin's team brought out their own weapons - they had seen Al's gun. Clara wondered for a hideous moment if they would have to make a stand, it wasn't a fair fight and no doubt more enemies were already on their way to join the fight.

It was almost unnoticeable at first, but the ground was certainly shaking. There was a distant thundering that was slowly getting louder and louder.

Then the wall behind them collapsed in a great cloud of dust.

Clara raised her arms to shield her eyes, but not in time to miss seeing one of men standing only feet away from her being crushed beneath the falling rubble. A bestial roar filled the tunnel, everyone froze where they stood. Something huge and green barrelled out from the rubble, crushing concrete and sending bricks flying.

For a moment Killer Croc stood in the middle of the tunnel, and Clara could have sworn their eyes met.

But perhaps because he didn't recognize her in that split second, or perhaps because he was presented with too many choices at once, Croc promptly grabbed the nearest person to the wall which just happened to be one of the Joker's men and ignored her.

What remained of Penguin's rescue party took advantage of the pandemonium to escape with their lives. Clara heard the cracking of shots being fired as she turned tail to flee with the others.

* * *

As they entered the museum, Avery broke off to help the injured man.

There was what appeared to have been a chaotic brawl in the arena area, and they had to wait a few minutes before the locked gates were opened again so that they could pass through. Clara saw more death, this time upon the floor. She knew she would have to get used to it, as long as she was in the 'city' she would be encountering it on a daily basis.

The Penguin was congratulating the winner of the brawl when their group made it up the stairs to him. He immediately lost interest in the brawl champion and looked them over with narrowed eyes.

'Well? Did you find them?' he demanded, the question a threat in itself.

'They were already dead. It was a trap, the Joker had already set it up,' said Al, in a level voice. 'Someone ratted on us, sir. We were spotted, and they were ready. We lost three men, a further one was injured.'

'And what was the reason for this failure?' Cobblepot asked menacingly, leaning forward upon his cane. 'Tell me, I would really like to know.'

'One-eye blew our cover, he'll explain why now,' replied Al, gratefully retreating from his boss's fearsome gaze.

'I didn't do that, they had already seen us,' grumbled One-eye, his one clouded eye meeting that of Cobblepot evenly. 'They had the whole place guarded, they weren't taking any chances. What I don't understand is, where they got all those guns? That is what we should be focusing on.'

Clara still didn't quite understand why One-eye had done what he did, she could only assume what she already knew – that he was completely crazy.

'Oh,' The Penguin paused to angrily puff a cloud of smoke, his sharp eyes then darted to Clara where she stood awkwardly a little way away from the others. 'Tell me, Tony, what was your account of things on this bloody awful night?'

'M-me? I-I,' Clara quickly cleared her throat, and looked all too briefly at her options and their implications in a desperation to answer. 'I think they might have seen us. That is, they were guarding the place, I don't know who they spotted first.'

'Avery, why don't you tell us what you saw?' he then asked the man who One-eye had thumped not ten minutes before.

'They hadn't seen us, then One-eye leaps out from his hiding spot, shouting and yelling before he tackled Tony half way across the room,' Avery didn't hesitate in answering, his face was devoid of any emotion but Clara could see the beginnings of the formation of a dark bruise upon his bald head and the clenching and unclenching of his fists indicated a more fearsome mood. 'The Joker's crew chased us into the underground, then Killer Croc popped up out of nowhere. While they were shooting at him, the rest of us got away.'

The Penguin's gaze now returned to her, and Clara could swear he was sneering at her from behind his cigar. If he thought she was lying, then it might be the end of her. Then a freakish smile broke his face, and he took the cigar from his mouth.

'I've just had a brilliant idea, I have.' he said, sarcastic joy dripping from each syllable. 'As you may, or may not already know, your little mission isn't the only one to get _**botched **_up tonight! So I'm not feeling particularly charitable right now. The thing you mugs must understand, is that I am in charge, I get what I want, not the other way around! So tell me, what might a fellow like myself want after he's just lost a bunch of his lads?'

'Revenge?'

'Revenge? Pah! In this sort of situation, that is secondary, what I need is replacements!' he paused to puff at his cigar again. 'You mentioned that you spotted Killer Croc down in the underground, I was wondering where he had been hiding his ugly mug. He worked for Black Mask in the past didn't he? And as far as I know, he isn't now...'

Cobblepot let the last sentence hang in the air like bait, even though it was already clear he had made up his mind. Al spoke up, when none of the others dared.

'Sir, with all due respect, that was more than five years ago and things have changed,' he said.

'Hmm, and hows that?'

'Killer Croc, well, he was put in Arkham Asylum wasn't he? I saw him just a few months before it closed down and, well if he was considered a freak before I don't know what you would consider him now. If we send down any men to try to reason with him, we'll have even less that we do now. He won't talk to them, he'll just eat them. It's too risky.'

'Which is exactly why I was just about to make the suggestion that One-eye _junior_ acts as our ambassador,' the Penguin finished with a nasty smile, looking at Clara. 'You told us you were disposable, so prove your usefulness. After all, you've already proved yourself a hazard tonight.'

Clara's mind did not immediately catch up with what she was expected to do, she was still busy trying to comprehend how it had been her fault that the earlier mission had gone so wrong. Apart from One-eye, they all glared fiercely at her now. What exactly had she done wrong; wasn't it One-eye' fault that they had been spotted? Or were angry with her simply because she didn't belong? Scrawny and ill looking by comparison, she imagined she must just look like a joke to most of them.

'What is it exactly you want me to do?' she managed to ask with calm face.

'Now that more like it, no more distractions, no more excuses,' the Penguin deliberately danced around the question, irritation still obvious in his voice. 'I want you to go back to where you saw Killer Croc. Find him and offer him a place amongst our ranks. If he agrees then I win, if he says no and eats you I still win coz I'll have one less problem to deal with.'

'Might you not just piss him off?' asked Al. 'If you really want him as muscle, he's only going to listen if his life is at stake.'

'Shut yer gob, Al! Are you suggesting I arm Tony? We already know what is going to happen tonight, all of us, I'm not going to lose anything further. Tony, any last requests?'

'Food!' she said without thinking, and then quickly added: 'So that he'll listen. If I'm to get a word in, he's going to need to be chewing on something else first.'

'And you don't think that I reckon you might just scarper with whatever I give you?' the Penguin replied, but then he paused. After a few moments he turned to look at one of his body guards. 'Actually on second thought. Tell them down in the kitchen to bring up some meat, they don't need to bother cooking it, tell them it's for an animal.'

'I need a whole carcass up by the entrance to the arena, now,' barked the bodyguard into the radio-receiver hanging around his neck. 'No cooking, no skin and nothing special!'

'Please, sir, you will be sending my boy to his death,' One-eye finally spoke up. 'I admit that I screwed up in tonight's mission! Panic overcame me, see?'

'You know, I was actually toying with the idea of sending you in his place, One-eye,' The Penguin laughed. 'Get rid of your old crumbling carcass and be done with it. But no, my decision is final. Tony is obviously the cause of tonight's screw up, he will prove his worth or die trying, that is how things work here!'

* * *

Less than 10 minutes later she was descending back down into the subway, her heart in her mouth, her pulse pounding in her ears and a skinned defrosting carcass of a lamb wrapped loosely in cloth tied to her back. One-eye and Jim, the drunken guard she had seen sitting in the red and white deckchair when she had first arrived, were with her for the moment; the Penguin had already threatened One-eye though and made it explicitly clear that if he tried to accompany Clara into the tunnels then he would be used as target practice, no matter how '_old a fan of the club'_ he was. Jim was there just to make sure things went as they were supposed to.

'Here we are, good luck, son,' One-eye stated as they reached the point at which they could see the end of the old carriages. He patted her upon the shoulder and looked as if he wanted to say more.

'Callum, we need to go,' the other henchmen called, wise enough to not try physically forcing One-eye to follow after him. 'Get going, Tony!' he shouted at Clara when One-eye didn't move.

Clara nodded, and began to amble off on her own, refusing to look back. As she left though she could hear the two talking.

'He is not your son, you know?'

'You think I wouldn't recognise my own boy?' scoffed One-eye.

And then they were out of earshot and she was alone.

Clara tugged at the ropes around her shoulders and headed deeper into the underground.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter, Killer Croc becomes a much more permanent fixture in the story - sorry for him barely appearing in this chapter.

I know that this story has been mainly OC orientated up until now, but I plan to bring in - even if briefly - more of the 'Arkamites' from the game into the story, and of course include more of Croc.

**Quick summary of this chapter:**

Clara has been under the guise of Tony for around a week in the Penguin's gang. Her normal role in missions she is sent out on with the others is to act as a scout - checking out the area before the rest move in, e.g. if she gets shot then they know it's not safe. However, one night after one of the Penguin's men are suspected of being abducted by the Joker's gang, Clara finds herself as a part of a rescue mission to retrieve them.

The mission is a failure though, the men abducted have already been executed and One-eye exhibits strange unexplained behavior which alerts the gang to exactly where they are. They barely make it into the subway, however they are followed. Just when it looks like things are going to turn sour, Killer Croc shows up unexpectedly. In the ensuing chaos in which Croc attacks the nearest person - who just happens to be one of Joker's guys - Clara and the rest of the rescue party escape.

The Penguin is furious at the bad news. When it becomes clear that One-eye's actions were the main reason for the further deaths - in his attempt to protect 'Tony' from some unseen danger - the Penguin decides to get rid of Clara, however he places a bet at the same time = he decides to send her to recruit Killer Croc (whom he is sure will kill 'Tony'), the wager being that if Clara dies then he is rid of a problem but if she succeeds then he gains a powerful ally.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**Decisions**

So she had two options, Clara told herself.

Her first option...well she had the option to run now, with no one watching her they would never know what had happened to her. Sure, she would never be able to go back, and would be right back where she started, but hey, at least she wouldn't have to face Killer Croc – and thus stand a slightly more marginal chance of surviving the next 24 hours.

Her second option would be to actually do what she had been told – though she knew that it was very likely that Killer Croc would just kill her as soon as he saw her, as he would no doubt be furious for her lying to him. She hadn't meant to lie, but that was just the way things had turned out, it wasn't like she could just wander off on her own anymore, not without permission. If she had tried they might had labeled her a traitor, trying to sell information onto one of the other big three, and shot her before she had a chance to explain herself - none of them really wanted her around, they seemed to think it was a personal insult that she had been allowed in so easily.

Professionalism in Penguin's gang meant not poking your nose into other people's business, unless it was that of an enemy, most notably Joker with whom Penguin had an ongoing feud that already spanned several years. All the same though, even if this hadn't been the case Clara doubted she would have been any more talkative with the others.

She wouldn't have known what to say to them, words drying up in her mouth before she speak. Dereck had temporarily stopped showing up, he hadn't appeared to her since her unintentional initiation into the gang, but supposedly this was actually for the better. Dereck generally only appeared when she was undistracted and completely alone, and it really wasn't healthy for her to talk to him when he did.

Pausing to adjust the heavy pack on her back as she got closer to her destination, Clara once more began to think about her options. Even if she were to do option 1, running away, she needed to exit on the Joker's side as she would be spotted too easily exiting the way by the museum, she had no idea how she was going to be able to get back over the guarded bridge though, the only way on and off of the Joker's part of the city, but she would have to try.

That was if she didn't run into Croc by accident anyway. She could quite clearly remember all her encounters with him, near misses on her life, his predatory and inhuman manner, and then there was the fresh paint of witnessing said cannibal bursting through the wall just mere hours before. Roaring like a beast, all claws and fangs, reaching to sink into the nearest warm body. Was there any way she might be able to avoid his wrath?

Clara considered lying again, and claiming that she had brought the Penguin's men past Croc earlier deliberately - but she didn't reckon it sounded very believable, and knew that even if Croc did believe it he still wouldn't be happy with the delivery being around a week late.

When she finally got back to the site where Croc had burst through the wall hours earlier, the place was deserted. There was no sign of the Joker's crew or Croc, not even the body of the man who had been crushed below the rubble – though as to which of the two formers had taken it was up to debate, she knew that Croc had not come out on top in the firefight following his appearance, the sound of gunfire had carried on too long for that.

She did not dare get any closer to the hole in the wall than need be, but she could large empty space behind it with water running adjacent to the tunnel, apparently the way he had come in and probably gone out. Now that she was here it seemed ridiculous that she would ever consider any option other than option 1. Running had worked so far, maybe it would work again.

Her nervous mind began drawing her a fevered dream of what she would do next. Find an abandoned building, one that was near nothing useful so that it was less likely anyone might stumble across her. She had sneaked a peak at the Penguin's maps more than once, she knew that just to the north of Joker's territory there was a large patch of unclaimed land up for grabs - more or less, it was very unlikely that there wasn't anyone else there - surely to be more deserted than what she was used to, if she could get over the heavily guarded bridge between the two districts...

Then there was a splash as something moved in the water behind the broken wall.

Run or stay? Clara bit her lip and forced herself to stay where she was, it wouldn't help anyone, including herself, if she was caught running.

* * *

Someone had come back, someone on their own. It was too good to be true, so he suspected a trap.

So he was cautious, quiet as he could be. He rose half out of the water, clutching the rubble to pull himself upwards. His arms and chest stung worse as soon as they were exposed to the air, his earlier attack had not been well thought out - now his hide was torn up, they had tried to shoot him down, a fresh new gash had missed his left eye by millimetres.

He wasn't sure who he was expecting it to be, perhaps someone from the Penguin's coming to collect the bodies - fat chance of that though, Joker's lot had taken everything, he knew this because he had tried to come back when everyone was gone. He was almost certain they had done it on purpose, they wanted him dead just as much as everyone else did.

But least of all people he expected to see was the wide eyed little rat that he had narrowly missed eating three times before.

He bunched up his arms and pulled himself out of the water, prepared to give chase as soon as she turned to run.

Only she didn't run, she waited.

Terrified as she had been every time before that he had seen her, she stared up at him with wide eyes, knees knocking together and arms crossed defensively, but there was purpose to the way she remained. She wasn't petrified with fear, she was remaining there by choice, her chin raised in a poor attempt to mimic confidence.

She looked no better off than before though, ashen faced and underweight. The oversized puffer jacket she wore hid the worst of her malnourishment - but he knew from when he had last had her in his grasp that beneath the thick material there was little more than bone. He could also smell blood, but it didn't smell human, and it was then that he noticed she was carrying something on her back, something heavy that made her stand awkwardly as she waited.

As he stepped out from the wall into the tunnel, she stumbled back a few feet before managing to recompose herself.

'I brought you something,' she said hurriedly, swinging a heavy bag from over her shoulder, it that thudded heavily to the ground in front of her. On closer inspection it was something wrapped in a blanket, and it smelt very familiar, reminded him of being imprisoned alone in the disused sewer network of Arkham Asylum.

When she pulled back the wrappings he was proved right, it was half the carcass of some sort of animal, like what they had used to feet him.

'It's got greater street value here than erm...regular meat...so erm, enjoy,' she said, stepping back.

He expected her to run then, but still she stuck around. For now he ignored her in favour of the fresh meat, except it wasn't fresh it was nearly frozen solid. He really hadn't come across any meat like this since he before he had escaped Arkham Asylum, where had she stolen it from?

It didn't matter though, he wasn't happy. She had lied.

Before she could remember why she shouldn't be there, he grabbed hold of her and held her so that her face was only inches from his. He would not be treated like an idiot!

'I-I got hold up, okay?' she bleated pathetically. 'The Penguin's gang, I ran into an ambush and-'

He growled and she fell silent. But then his eyes fell back on the food she had brought. She hadn't completely lied, most people wouldn't have come back at all, the whole situation seemed strange to him.

'I was beginning to think you had gone and died,' he said, picking up the frozen carcass with his other hand. 'But you're here now...'

He really was surprised, after she hadn't turned up before he had really not expected her to come back at all. He had no idea what to think and he really didn't like it when he didn't understand what was going on. Immediately he was suspicious, was this a trap? Was the meat poisoned? How was she trying to use him?

'I can get you more,' she whined, struggling feebly. 'If that's what you want, I can get you more.'

'Where did you get this?' he growled, he shook both the carcass and the woman in his hands at once.

'The Penguin's kitchens,' she said quickly, the forced confidence was gone. He could see her searching for an escape route, little hands tense upon his arm as if readying to spring away. Or was she looking around for backup? An ambush he hadn't spotted?!

Croc quickly surveyed the area around them, raising his head to breathe in deeply, taking in scents to reveal to him what his eyes wouldn't show him. He could still smell gunpowder from the Joker's gang's guns from earlier, he could smell the damp in where the concrete was eroding away in the tunnels, but most pungent of all was the fear of the struggling woman beside him. But they were alone, there was no one waiting nearby to spring a trap.

'I did what you asked,' she begged.

And she had, more or less. He snarled and then abruptly dropped her, she had kept her word and he always kept his.

She landed on her feet, stumbling backwards, staring up at him with wide nervous eyes. He fixed her with a warning glare, then he sat down upon the ground with a heavy thump. He tore into the carcass she had brought without any further regard, starving, he ignored her; fully expecting to hear the sound of her running away.

But she didn't.

After several moments had passed though, he noticed she was still there. He watched her out of the corner of his eyes though, suspicious. He thought he would catch her staring, giving him an excuse to end their deal early, but she was facing completely the opposite direction, wringing her hands nervously and her gaze focused on the ground. She didn't want to be there, that much was obvious, but she still wasn't leaving.

He was still suspicious, he didn't like it when he didn't know what was going on, it always meant something bad. She didn't say anything and he didn't ask, he wasn't obliged to and he didn't want her around anymore than she did him. So he carried on eating, but kept a close eye on her.

She was an odd little thing, he concluded after watching her for a few further minutes, if he hadn't been who he was he would not have been able to tell that she was woman, but nor did she look quite like a man or even a child, too thin and grubby to be much more than a breathing corpse. Yes, a living corpse, that was what she looked like.

Then finally she moved, turning back around to face him.

'I need to ask you something.' she started, obviously waiting to gauge his reaction.

'What?' he growled, and was satisfied to see her jump back a step further.

'Areyoulookingforemployment?' she blurted.

He didn't understand a word, and she seemed to understand this after a moment of him staring at her incomprehensibly because she repeated back the sentence.

'The Penguin would like to hire you,' she said slightly more slowly, though it still sounded as if she was trying to make the sentence into a word.

'The Penguin?' he questioned, taken aback. He looked her over again, and it was only now that he saw the familiar white symbols painted onto her jacket. She had gotten into that gang? He found he didn't care how. 'Was he want?'

'He wishes for you to consider working for him,' she managed to say. 'There would be food, lots more food! And, whatever else you want!'

This was a surprise, was someone really seeking to hire him? After all these years? Unless this was a trap...

'I don't trust the Penguin,' he eventually hissed. 'I've already caught several of his boys since moving down here. Though they don't come down here so much anymore. Not alone anyway.'

'He sent me to recruit you, I can ask them if I can bring more food, would that change your mind?' she asked, wide eyes darting in every direction but his own.

He took his time in answering, flicking a few odd bones aside as he continued his meal, leaving her to stand there waiting for his reply. She seemed sincere, frightened for her own life anyway. And then he realised the connection; she hadn't come down here voluntarily, she had been sent down.

Abruptly he chuckled. 'If you return without me, they'll kill you, won't they, little rat?'

She didn't immediately answer, her expression said everything for her though.

'...Th-that is irrelevant,' she stuttered. 'Will you consider the Penguin's proposal? He is seeking all the power he can get, you'll be rewarded.'

_'_Your words don't do you any favours, rat,' Croc continued, now fully disregarding the crushed bony remnants of his meal. 'I know of Penguin's collection, and I'm not going to end up shot and stuffed in a trophy case.'

'I'm sure you wouldn't-'

'And I'm always hungry,' he was now crouched, as if about to pounce, and to his amusement she stumbled back a few further steps. 'A little man in makeup told me to eat any "birds" I might find down here.'

'You already work for the Joker?' she asked uneasily. 'I'm sure the Penguin can offer you a better deal...'

Croc was pretty sure anyone could strike a better deal than the Joker could. And like most deals Croc had made, it had fallen through, the gang had not kept their side of the bargain - they were supposed to stay out of the subway, but they still passed through, and they were always armed. And it hadn't helped that the deal hadn't been struck with the head honcho either, but some one-armed henchmen who had spoken of being part of a carnival - he had been taken aback at being talked to as an equal, and made a choice without thinking it through.

But it hadn't meant nothing, and it didn't mean anything now. They had not kept their word and he certainly wasn't going to keep his, especially not if there was a better deal up for grabs. But what were the hidden costs? Nothing ever came easy. He had nothing to lose but his own life, and he wasn't so willing to gamble with that. Everyone either wanted to use him or wanted him dead, and he had no certain way of knowing which of these two options the Penguin was considering.

'There's food...' she offered weakly again, eyeing him warily as she waited for a reply.

'And what sort of deal do you have, if you are so disposable that they send you down here alone?' he replied, mulling over his own predicament. 'Been looking for you for days, then suddenly you come straight to me. They sent you to die.'

'I'm not worth as much as you,' she said quickly, she was trying to maintain eye contact with him but her nerves were getting the better of her, annoying him further. 'You're much more valuable, that is why the Penguin wants you to work for him. There is food and shelter, and I'm sure that most people who join up are paid fairly.'

By her tone it was clear that she either was paid very little or not paid anything at all.

He was not going to make sure a hasty decision this time, not until he had had time to think over it. This was a big decision, it would mean that he would no longer have to scrounge a living, hiding in the sewers. But to go above ground when for all he knew there were snipers waiting on the roof for him. This would be a big change, and he didn't like change but change was inevitable.

'Please! I promise the deal is genuine,' wide eyed the woman was looking up at him now, apparently taking his silence as a 'no'. 'The Joker tricked a patrol this night, people died, the Penguin wants to replace them!'

'I'm going to think about it,' he growled, narrowing his eyes, and she scrambled back another step at his tone.

'I'll pass on the message,' she said quietly, and finally she turned to go back up the tunnel, leaving him alone to pick at the bones of his meal as she broke into a run.

* * *

She ran all the way back, not looking back for fear that Killer Croc would have changed his mind and had decided that she would be on the menu that night.

When she emerged from the underground she realised she was not actually sure where she was, having relied on others more familiar with this side of town to find her way here before. She knew the Pinkney Museum wasn't far, less than five minutes walk, but as she looked around for landmarks she found nothing but featureless blocks of flats.

In front of her she could see Arkham City's outer wall and it curved outwards, so she knew she had to be somewhere along the perimeter facing Gotham. After the series of frightening events she had encountered that night, Clara really didn't think there was anything more that could frighten her. She actually felt kind of numb; it was only instinct that drove her not run around yelling until she found her way back to the museum.

She listened carefully, she couldn't hear anyone nearby, but she had noticed that when on patrol or guard duty – working in any form outside the hideout really – Penguin's men were generally eerily quiet, at least compared to most of the other inmates she had run across so far. Abruptly she was struck with the idea that Penguin's snipers might even be above her, and mistake her for an intruder – shooting first, asking questions later.

Quite deliberately she stood straighter and pulled her shoulders back, hoping that it would make the symbols upon the jacket more visible. She found herself wishing that the symbols would have been painted larger and on her back as well; she didn't have the traditional get-up of the rest, the Penguin - nor anyone else for that matter - had never deemed her worthy enough to even suggest anything, she still wore what she had worn since before she had joined, right down to the bandaging around her chest that now served no purpose other than to maintain her disguise.

She wandered hopelessly for a while, wondering if perhaps she should just take her chances and run for it. Her hideout under the old house was probably still there, as were the goods she had buried, but the cold and the uncertainty of going hungry would also certainly be there too.

It was early November now, she had yet to see any snow but the icy winds were promise enough of a harsh winter to come. There was a very real possibility that if she did go solo again that one night she would simply fall asleep and not wake up again, frozen in time in a crawlspace until the spring came and the ice melted.

Yep, that didn't sound like a very attractive prospect.

There was a sharp tap of metal against metal behind her. Clara froze, then looked back in the direction of the sound, fearing that Croc had gone back on his decision of letting her go and decided to give chase after all.

But it wasn't Croc.

She could just pick out a shape in the darkness of the empty street.

A thin, lithe man was arched up against the wall, blending nearly seamlessly with the shadows. No hat and no hair, and of the clothing she could pick out a faint red or perhaps brown, but couldn't be certain for the lighting.

But that didn't matter, immediately she could tell he was not one of Penguin's, and she could see the glint of metal within one of his hands. She knew she was in trouble.

All this happened in a matter of a few milliseconds though, for the moment her stalker knew that she knew he was there, he launched himself at her.

But hours of running, hiding and avoiding trouble paid off, and Clara leapt out of his reach in time. Behind her the man let out a hysterical wail of aggravation.

_'Come_ back, little piggy!' the man shouted. 'You must understand that your time has come!'

Pig, rat, Tony or scum, Clara really couldn't care. She ran for her life.

But the man was persistent, though Clara didn't dare look back she could hear him close behind her, breathing raggedly.

Then she slipped. One of her oversized shoes, stolen and therefore not really meant to be her size anyway, came loose on her foot and she lost her balanced.

Cold unforgiving hands grabbed at her, yanking her backwards then slamming her to the ground, knocking the air from her lungs. The maniac crouched over her, and in the faint moonlight Clara caught sight of criss-crossing patches of scars upon his skin. She almost couldn't believe it, didn't want to. It was the mass murderer, Victor Zsasz. This scenario seemed almost so unlikely that she would have been laughing if it wasn't serious.

'Look!' he said quite jubilantly, pointing at one of his shoulders, as if nothing was wrong. 'This is where I shall place your mark, the third one gathered since the last full moon.'

Inside, part of the old Clara was sobbing and crying at the sudden inevitability of her death. But old Clara would not have survived 5 minutes in Arkham City, and she didn't plan on dying tonight.

Without a further thought, she gathered every ounce of her desperate strength, and squarely punched Zsasz in the side of his face, abusing her medical knowledge and going straight for the weakest point of his skull.

It was not enough to throw him off, but enough to knock him back and make him lose his balance, and it provided her enough room to execute her next manoeuvre, kicking him straight in the chin. But once again he didn't fall, he simply staggered.

_'_Do not fight it, for I am your only saviour!' he shouted excitedly, and Clara was somewhat satisfied to see blood between his teeth. 'I will save you!'

'Save yourself!' she spat viciously at him, prepared to fight to the death if it meant even the smallest chance of her escaping.

But there was a great shadow rising behind him, which Clara immediately recognised. She found she wasn't sure if things were about to take a turn for the better or the worse.

Sensing they were not alone, Zsasz looked back over his shoulder. The next moment he was some ten feet up in the air and screaming in terror.

* * *

A/N: I cut this chapter in half, it was originally longer. I can't help but wonder if I should be making all the chapters shorter, I write fanfiction as practice for creative writing so I'm used to writing long chapters :S

**Quick summary of this chapter:**

Clara continues her journey to find Croc and recruit him for the Penguin. Managing to keep him at bay by offering of the frozen carcass she brought from the kitchens, she manages to talk to him. Croc is, as ever, suspicious, and doesn't want to be forced into making a decision. Clara reluctantly begins to head back, hoping that the message that Croc is considering his options will be enough for the Penguin.

On the way back she is ambushed by Zsasz, but at the last moment, Croc steps in.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**Collapse**

Zsasz was thrown like a sack of flour, limbs flailing everywhere. When he struck the wall he went silent, slumping to the ground, limp as a rag-doll.

He was no longer her biggest priority though, from where she lay on the concrete pavement, Killer Croc's massive form seemed to fill up the night sky.

She found she didn't have the strength in her right at that moment to get to her feet, instead she cowered where she lay. But he wasn't moving to attack her, but nor was he paying any attention to Zsasz's unconscious form.

He had just saved her life. Inadvertent or not, she didn't know, but she found she hadn't felt so grateful to anyone in a long time. And without meaning to, she smiled.

* * *

She was there, and her eyes were wide open, but she wasn't moving. And for a moment he thought he had somehow killed her; he could remember that sometimes those that died suddenly sometimes died eyes wide open, like after an explosion. He shook his head to rid himself of his darker memories, and reminded himself that this was not the same situation, she was not dead; he could freaking hear her breathing, and she had propped herself up on her elbows.

He couldn't smell any blood, other than that of the man he had thrown to one side, so she wasn't injured. She was simply wasting his time, and she was staring. He didn't like it when people stared. He already felt uncomfortable enough being out in the open, he wasn't going to put up with anymore shit like this. Before he could say anything though, she smiled, and he was taken aback. It had been a very long time since anyone had smiled genuinely at him. But he shrugged this thought off like he did the cold, without another thought.

'I changed my mind,' he told her gruffly, and hoped she was actually listening. 'I'm coming now.'

'Oh. That's good,' she squeaked, as quickly as the smile had appeared it had vanished. She scrambled to her feet, keeping her eyes on him. '...Well, I guess if you follow me, we'll go straight to the Iceberg Lounge.'

She looked as if she might run, he quickly grabbed hold of the back of her jacket, yanking her back towards him. She was so light her feet left the ground.

'You're sticking with me, I'm not going to get shot coz they think I'm attacking or summin',' he growled.

'Of course not,' she replied quickly. 'If I go back without you I'll be in trouble anyway.'

He glanced at the unconscious form of the man lying nearby, habit demanding that he didn't let a chance like this go to waste, but he knew that now was not the time for eating. The scrawny woman was trying to discretely pull herself free, but he wasn't paying any attention to her, he had just noticed they had other company. It was the girl's fault really that he hadn't noticed earlier, so scared that she made it hard for him to smell anything else. No doubt these newcomers had been drawn by the racket that had been going on moments earlier.

The girl had also seen them, but she seemed just as frightened at before, even though they were clearly from the Penguin's gang. Unexpectedly he noticed that she was trying to feign confidence again. Despite his grip on her she had squared her shoulders, and had raised her chin high - but it was all an act, she was terrified. There was six of them, three of which were armed, but even they looked nervous when they realised who they were dealing with, and they kept their distance.

He knew immediately something was wrong, they were being encircled. He growled in warning and heard three guns being cocked in response. They were going to shoot him

'Stop!' the girl said, and her voice was altered, tone different. She stood tall and tugged on the front of her jacket so that the symbols of her alliance painted there could be seen more easily. 'It's me, Tony. I'm supposed to be bringing Killer Croc to the boss.'

'Tony? I thought the Penguin threw you in the lake,' replied one, looking uneasily up at Croc. The rest of the group was milling around as well, looking uncomfortably between themselves, one or two talking in low voices. Croc glared, though he doubted they could tell, it had been a long time since he could do anything but glare - his thick skin having fused his face into a permanent scowl.

'So, I guess, you'll need to follow us,' one said cautiously.

'Yeah, whatever, I already know the way back,' continued the girl (Tony?). 'I do my work properly, don't go stealing my glory.'

'Glory? What glory, I don't think you were actually expected to...' the man trailed off, looking up at Croc again. 'Come on then, no point standing around here all night. Ey, is that Zsasz?'

Several of them, though none ever taking their eyes off of Croc for more than a few seconds, moved around to look at the unconscious man. Zsasz was slowly regaining consciousness.

'No!' wailed Zsasz, seeing too late that he was surrounded. 'You will not hinder my work!'

'What we got here? A bit out of your jurisdiction, ain't you, Zsasz?' asked one of Penguin's patrol. 'The boss will want to see you for that, you know.'

Croc lost interest, they were not looking at him anymore, and he was not afraid of Zsasz. Instead he looked to the scrappy girl, who unlike him was very much fixated on the struggle nearby.

'Your name's Tony?' he asked, more wanting to check that he had heard right rather than know the answer.

Her wide eyes darted up to look at him, and he saw her rolling her shoulders in an attempt to look unaffected by the situation.

'Yeah, I am Tony,' but despite the very good mockery of confidence she was putting on, she would not look at him directly. Croc, for all his ability, could not smell deceit or lies themselves, but he knew when somebody was up to something. Everyone was always up to something, it was like some sort of game, like gambling, you had to be able to read what your opponents were thinking; and Croc wasn't very good at reading people, but most of the time he didn't need to, he already knew they all strived for his destruction.

No, but this was different, he thought, she was up to something else. A different voice, different way of talking, different body language - much more forced, abrupt, heavy - it didn't make any sense. Unless, yes of course! She was pretending to be someone else. Croc knew there were not many women in Arkham city, they didn't last very long, and those that did were the likes of Poison Ivy and the psycho Harley Quinn, tough as nails and with distinct vantage points such high rank in the Joker's army. The little rat had neither, so she was parading around as someone else.

Not that he cared, it didn't effect him in the slightest. Though in some far distant corner of his mind, he felt some tiny twinge of empathy - at the fact that he knew what it was like to not be able to fit in. But at this thought he suddenly became angry, while some could play pretend to fit in, he knew that no matter what he did he could not do the same.

'You cannot do this to me! I will have my mark!' Zsasz was shouting as he was manhandled, arms tied behind his back, head bent forth as one particularly big thug maintained a grip around the base of his neck.

'We got a live one here, the boss will be pleased.'

They were pretending to be focused on Zsasz, but he could see them casting nervous glances his way again, too scared to say anything. Croc glared back. He didn't have to like them, or even pretend not to hate the very flesh on their bones, it was the Penguin he was dealing with now, not them. And if they dared do or say anything stupid to him, hired muscle or not, he would make them regret it.

'Good work, _Tony_!' one tried to laugh, but the sound quickly petered out. 'Let's get going.'

They said nothing to him, though he could hear them muttering between themselves, and saw them looking back to keep an eye on him. Though Zsasz struggled fiercely, they were more afraid of him. Croc tried to remember back to the days when he had worked in a team before, it had been some time ago now, but he had done it before and he could do it again. All he had to do was tolerate them, nothing more and nothing less.

Survival, that was what he needed to focus on. Survive and live to see another day.

He looked down in surprise when he felt a small tug on one of his arms.

'Erm...Croc?' _she_ was still standing beside him, and it was only then that he realised he still hadn't let go of the back of her jacket.

* * *

He let go of her as if he'd been burnt.

Clara breathed a sigh of relief as Croc followed after the others without a further word. She was so tired from the night's events that she felt as if she could quite happily fall asleep on the pavement and not give a damn about the gathering cold of winter. Slowly she trudged after the lot, but as she began to fall behind she found she had to force herself to run to catch up with them.

The patrol headed straight back to the museum, talking amongst themselves and sometimes speaking quite deliberately over whatever Zsasz had to say, laughing at his expense. But the atmosphere was tense. Croc, towering over everyone, said nothing anyone and they said nothing to him, but there was a distinct amount of glancing backwards going on, and Clara was beginning to worry - what with having apparently been in an asylum and all - whether or not Killer Croc might simply flip out and kill the lot of them.

Clara kept her distance from both threats, the patrol and Croc, straying to one side so that she could discretely watch both out of the corner of her eye. To her surprise though she found one of the men slowing down to walk beside her. He was one of many in the gang she had never spoken to before, she had seen him lurking at the corners of the museum with nine others who didn't seem to mingle much with the rest, she knew he had some sort of hispanic name but couldn't recall it at that moment.

'Hey, you're that new street-rat right?' the man asked her, and she noted his slight accent. 'Everyone was saying that flippers fed to you to the sharks.'

''You're kidding me, he's got sharks?' she asked incredulously.

'Ey, that's what I heard. I ain't never seen them. Name's Enrique by the way, been here since the beginning. The beginning of Arkham City that is, not that it's even officially open yet, the gates are still open.'

'What do you mean by that? The gates are still open?'

'What? No, don't count on it, it's just a figure of speech. The opening of the facility is just press coverage, a little ceremony the city has with the mayor. Only thing that is going to happen security is going to get tighter, they've already started putting up cameras everywhere north of here.'

Well, if security had been impossible to by-pass before, Clara knew now that she could probably give up of even dreaming of escaping. This was really turning out to be a terrible night.

* * *

They reached the museum and descended the stairs past the main entrance, to find the Penguin already awaiting them, one of his men having already ran ahead to inform him of the turn of events. His stared wide-eyed up at Killer Croc as the group entered the hall, as if not quite believing what he was seeing, but then he noticed Zsasz and a sadistic grin grew upon his face.

'Well, well, if it ain't my old friend, Victor Zsasz.' he smiled nastily as they approached. 'Still got those butter fingers, or did you lose them too when you gave up gambling?'

In contrast to his earlier behaviour, Zsasz fell completely silent. His eyes looked ready to pop from his skull, the grinding of his teeth was audible in the room, every muscle in his body was tensed. Clara had never seen a more enraged expression on anyone's face before, and she could tell the Penguin was loving every moment of it.

'Throw him in a trophy case boys, no need to be picky, we'll make a placard for him later.' The Penguin shouted, grinning all the while. 'And leave him in there to rot!'

'I will have my mark!' Zsasz shouted, and she saw him seeking her out amongst the gathering, quickly she turned her back in the hope that he wouldn't recognise her face. 'I will seek you out, and I will find you. I will find all of you little piggies, especially you Cobblepot. Do you want to know, where I will place your mark-'

'Ah, someone get him to shut up. He's boring me,' the Penguin shouted, then added with a chuckle. 'Though I must admit, it does add nicely to the ambiance of the museum.'

He then turned to regard Killer Croc, who had come to standstill in the centre of the room. There was a wide space around him, no one standing within arm's reach of him.

'Croc old boy, how are you?' shouted the Penguin, smiling as he came closer though Clara didn't miss the way he tapped his bodyguards with the end of his umbrella on the way. 'I was half expecting ya not to show. So Tony has already spoken to you? Well here I am wondering what your reply is?'

'What's it pay?'

'We'll discuss that later,' the Penguin clipped, watching Zsasz clawing at the glass of his cabinet prison. 'If you're on board, you'll get paid just like everyone else. We'll go to my office now, and talk about the finer details.'

Clara suddenly found herself the subject of scrutiny, but despite what she had done the Penguin merely looked away again as if it had been nothing. She hadn't really expected to be welcomed back a hero, but she had hoped for at least a little acknowledgement, something that might indicate that she was not completely worthless. Oh well, it was time to move on, her work was done for the night. She began to shuffle her way out from amongst the crowd, planning to find somewhere dark and quiet to curl up and go to sleep. Except half-way across the room she was intercepted by One-eye.

_Whack!_

'You little brat, you're coming with me now!' he huffed, grabbing her by the arm as she reeled from the blow. Clara was on her last legs, the stress was getting too much, she could only just force herself to suppress the urge to punch the lunatic holding her. A year ago she would have cried at such treatment, or screamed at least, but now she **had** to remain in character.

'What did I do? What did I go?' she growled, struggling to pull free but restraining herself from shrieking at or hitting him.

'Getting into trouble like that, you trying to get yourself killed?' he was grumbling under his breath, and in the light Clara saw that his face was bruised and large chunk of his ear was missing, red running down his neck from it. 'Do you think, for one minute that-'

'Oi, One-eye! Get your arse over here, I need to talk to ya!' shouted the Penguin. 'And where is that loud-mouthed Frankie? I've got a mission for you slugs.'

Clara, seeing an opportunity, yanked herself free from One-eye's grip while he was distracted, and quickly slipped amongst the gathering crowd, and left the front hall behind.

* * *

She headed directly for the arena, intent on taking a shortcut down to the lower floors where the hammocks were stored - not that she had such a luxury, her current bed was a folded cardboard box, but right now it was attractive as a silk lined king-sized bed and there was nothing more that she could have desired right then than to go straight to sleep.

The arena itself was empty of anyone alive or dead, though the mess left by the last fight still hadn't been cleaned away, there were dark smears of blood upon the floor and even on the electrified fence. Clara skirted around this, passing through the open gate and going up the steps towards the hall that led to the Iceberg Lounge, she knew there was a small passageway that twisted down into winding stairs nearby, and that where she aimed for; a shortcut.

But as she got to the top of the stairs she realised that there were other people in the room. All sitting behind the pillars, talking quietly amongst themselves. They all looked up when they noticed her, their talking immediately ceasing. There was no one in sight she knew beyond a few words, though she recognised one.

Greasy haired and lanky, so called loud-mouth Frankie had noticed her come up. He was the same guy that on the first night had suggested she wouldn't last a second in the fighting pit, and while this was true and was probably what everyone else in the room had also been thinking, Clara distinctly disliked him. There was something very sly about him, like a fox sneaking around a farmyard hen-house after dusk. And though she had never talked to him, the minute she saw him coming over she knew there was going to be trouble.

'Hey Tony!'

Clara began to walk faster, pretending not to hear, if she could just reach the hallway-

Frankie was blocking the door.

'So you're still alive? I heard the Penguin was going to get rid of you,' he laughed, coming uncomfortably close. He put an arm around her shoulders like they were good friends, but the half-embrace was anything but friendly, and now he was deliberately steering her away from the door.

'The boss was looking for you, ya know?' she replied, ducking out from under his arm. She squared her shoulders and stood her ground, not wanting to give them anymore incentive to harass her.

'Was he?' a strange look passed over Frankie's face, somewhat between fear and disgust. 'What did he want?'

'He said something about a mission, he's waiting in the front hall.'

But Frankie seemed to have lost interest in the conversation and was no longer even looking at her, instead he grinned at the others, and they were still grinning too.

'I feel as if we have not given you a proper reception yet, Tony,' he said unravelling a piece of cloth from his pocket. 'I feel as we have not fully integrated you into our midst, and I feel it my civil duty to do something about it.'

'And what would that be?' she managed to snarl, though she was already considering vaulting down the stairwell parapet.

'Oh nothing nasty,' he replied, eyes wide as if shocked she thought his words could be anything but sincere, and behind him the others laughed amongst themselves. 'Just a little game, is all.'

'I don't like games,' Clara replied, beginning to back away towards the stairs; no shortcut was worth this.

'Yeah, well they're important for team bonding,' he snapped, blocking her exit again and putting an unwelcome arm around her shoulders again, though this time it was more of a headlock than a 'casual hug'. He began to forcefully lead her back towards the others. 'Just a lil game of blind man's buff, you know, coz your daddy who-is-not-your-daddy can't see all that well. It's appropriate, see? Only he don't see, so you get to view the world from his perspective.'

'…' Clara said nothing, trying to hide the fact that she was panicking, but she knew her resisting feet that dug into the ground were a dead giveaway.

'It's a simple game really,' he said, keeping one arm locked around her neck as he wrapped the rag tightly over her eyes. 'You try to catch me. You can only win - unless you give up, which I might take as an insult if you know what I'm saying.'

And then, completely blind, she was shoved forwards into the middle of the terrace. Her hands flew out to steady herself, she braced her feet and strained to see through the thick material over her eyes. But she could not see a thing. The others were laughing again, they sounded as if they were coming closer, but Clara didn't have much time to worry over this though because the next moment she was nearly knocked over as Frankie darted forward from the opposite side he had left her and shoved her.

She steadied herself and swiped blindly for anything to cling on to.

She moved to take the blindfold off, only to immediately be shoved again, this time far more roughly.

'I wouldn't do that if I were you! We wouldn't like it if you cheated,' he laughed, his voice moving as he circled her. 'Try again and we'll gouge your eyes out to make sure you can't.'

The next time he shoved Clara did fall, she grazed her knees but thankfully managed to stay up right. She barely had time to get to her feet again before she was being shoved once more, in between his loud laughs she could hear his footsteps, but in her panicked mind she had lost all perspective on dimension and could not pinpoint where in the room she was, let alone pinpoint the sound.

When her knees knocked against stone, but the rest of her did not, she realised she stood right at the edge of the balcony, a 30 foot drop, and she heard Frankie running at her again.

And she immediately understood his intentions.

He was going to push her off.

She was able to gather enough of her mind together to dart away from the balcony, but then not being able to see anything, stumbled and fell to her knees again. There was a chorus of disappointed boos and jeers. When she heard him coming at her again she leapt to meet him, grabbing hold of his sleeves as he came within striking distance, only for him to violently twist out of her grasp – nearly breaking her fingers in the process.

'Uh uh uh, it's not going to be that easy,' he jeered. Clara snarled, and lunged at him, only for one of her outstretched hands to painfully crunch against a stone pillar.

'Come on! You really think it's fair to the rest of us for you to play so poorly? Make this fun to watch, come on, try to catch me!'

Clara held her injured hand to her chest, she could hear more than one set of feet moving now, and the sounds seemed to come from all around her. She had a horrifying vision of all of them coming to throw her off the balcony, or worse while no one else was around. They were all talking amongst themselves in low voices, chuckling, her blood began to roar in her ears.

* * *

It was horribly familiar in a way that Croc could never had predicted.

He had been following the Penguin and some others back towards the Iceberg lounge, when he had spotted Tony again.

It was not a game, the girl had been blindfolded so that she could not see, she stumbled as she tried to fend off the circling pack, never knowing from quite where they were coming. And they all laughing, they all found it hilarious.

He had seen this before, years before.

An intense illogical urge to leap to her protection filled him. It took more than a moment for him to remember that she was not Becky, and her antagonists were not unwanted hoodlums but his colleagues now, or rather he was not supposed to kill them anyway.

Suddenly she turned his direction, she was listening, he stopped walking. Without warning she lunged towards him, arms locking around one of his legs. Immediately silence fell, the amusement of the crowd was gone, all waited with bated breath for what he would do. Like it was a circus act, like he was a performing animal.

The little rat was clinging to his leg, hands digging into the cloth - holding on to him because she couldn't see what she was doing. But it didn't matter, in that moment she was blind Becky, and he had to save her.

With an angry roar he sent the nearest man flying, he wasn't even sure if he had been involved in the attack. There was a mass panic and everyone was scrambling to set away from him, even the Penguin was swearing in alarm.

But Croc wasn't so out of it as to know that he needed to immediately stop when the guns were aimed at him.

The girl ripped off the blindfold in the commotion.

For one moment, he paused and looked down at her and she looked back. The illusion fell apart immediately, Becky had been blind but this girl was not. There was no attempt made by her to hide the horror she felt at seeing him. She took one look at him then slowly looked down to the one arm she still had wrapped around him, and without warning, promptly crumpled to the ground.

The tension in the air was erased almost immediately as people began to laugh all around. Pointing and jeering, not at him but the motionless form upon the floor. Croc for once was at quite a loss at what to do, normally he wouldn't have thought twice about simply walking over a stranger, but right now he was confused.

'Alright, you lot, that's enough!' shouted the Penguin, chuckling himself. 'Ain't got time for you lot to stand around gawping, get back to work! Croc? You ain't to kill, crush, maim or eat anyone without my say so! If you feel like taking swings at my boys again, save it for Joker's bastards, he's got more than enough of them!'

The Penguin glanced, sneering, at the motionless body lying at Croc's feet. 'You can keep this one though. Isn't worth his salt.'

* * *

A/N: For those unfamiliar with the **Arkham Unhinged** comics, **Becky** was the first friend Croc ever made - she was a young, blind girl who introduced him to the circus of which he became a sideshow freak and was given the name Killer Croc some time before the events of Arkham Origins. She died when the circus was set on fire, as did most of the people that Croc cared about.

This chapter is actually the second half of the one previous to this, I ended up splitting it in two, so it may flow a little funny.

I love reviews X3, thank you TurtleKidTheWoolGatherer, Riksie-Dixie and ZombieMart! Anyone feel free to point out any inconsistencies or other problems in the story itself, especially if it is to do with the format of the story. If you think there is anything I can change with the way I present the later chapters, please say something, the main thing I'm worried about at the moment is the presentation of side/minor characters that aren't cannon (e.g. One-eye, Loud-mouth Frankie etc). Enrique, whom Clara was speaking to at one point briefly in this chapter, is in fact a cannon character - albeit a very, very minor one from Arkham City (last name Sanchez, if that helps at all).

Also on a completely irrelevant note: I've just finished my final exams! Wooh, no more physics lessons ever! Hopefully this means I'll be able to get more chapters up quickly, hopefully I can finish this story before the end of the summer holidays.

**Quick summary of this chapter:**

Clara finds that Croc has followed her, managing to catch Zsasz just before he can kill her. Zsasz struggles, and Croc throws him against a wall, knocking him unconscious. Croc then reveals to Clara that he has decided he will go for the job, but wants to go with her now as he knows that there may not be another chance for him - if Clara was shot, the Penguin might well not bother sending anyone else - and he doesn't want to risk turning up on his own - not when there are so many itchy triggerfingers everywhere.

However the sound of Zsasz struggles has already brought the attention of a nearby patrol. They swarm around, terrified, but Clara manages to talk them into calming down. They all go back to the Iceberg Lounge where the Penguin is waiting for them. Zsasz gets thrown in a display cabinet, and the Penguin welcomes Croc. Meanwhile Clara is found by One-eye who hits her for worrying him, not liking this she decides to leave at the first opportunity.

But by slipping out alone, back towards the arena, Clara inadvertently puts herself in greater danger. So called 'Lou-mouthed Frankie' is lurking around with a group of others drinking. Thinking that it would be a fun game to bully her while no one else is around, Frankie forces her to play a deadly game of Blind-man's buff, which culminates in him trying to shove her off the terrace to her death - or at least horrible injury. Clara manages to evade these attempts on her life though until accidentally she grabs hold of Croc - who has since come into the room unbeknownst to her. Unbeknownst to her though, Killer Croc had just had a flash back to when he had caught ruffians bullying Betty back in his days at the carnival - seeing Clara 'blind' and stumbling - and reacts violently. Croc brutally sends one of her tormentors flying over the railing. When she realises what she has done, Clara - already exhausted from the night's events - faints.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**Guilty**

The smell of fresh paint was thick in the air.

Clara knew she was dreaming the moment she looked in the mirror in front of her and saw that there was no trace of the ugly scar running down the left side of her face, and her hair came past her shoulders like it had used to.

There was the gentle hum of conversation nearby and when Clara turned to look she saw several overstuffed sofas. Her parents were there, and so were some of her old friends from her year at university, but right at the end sat her sister-in-law, Millie, and Dereck himself.

She ran to them, beaming, never had she felt so much joy before. Giddily she ran giggling around the room, finally climbing over the back of the sofa on which Dereck and his wife were sitting, childishly she forced them to move aside so that she could sit between them.

'Clara, you overgrown brat,' her brother grunted when she accidentally stood on his stomach as she clambered down to sit. 'Can't you sit somewhere else?'

'Go easy on her, Dereck, she's just nervous,' replied Millie. 'She've never been to court before.'

Clara didn't know or care what Millie was talking about, she was just glad the whole nightmare was over. To reassure herself of her brother's continuing existence she prodded him in the shoulder several times, ignoring his complaints until he got up and stalked off, leaving her alone with Millie.

'He's such a kind soul, isn't he?' she said to Clara. 'That's why I married him, such a kind soul.'

Dereck was now standing beside their parents and pointing back at her accusatorily.

Then without warning he crumpled into dust.

She felt as if her heart had stopped.

There was a sharp eerie whistle. Everyone got to their feet, and filed out of the room through two huge doors.

Clara quickly scrambled after them. On passing through the doorway she realised she had just walked straight into a courtroom, everyone was already seated.

'Bring forth the defendant,' called a voice.

Seated high above her was a board of judges. And it was only then that she noticed that on either side of her stood security guards, they held her arms so she couldn't move, and when they pulled her towards the stand she had no option but to comply. She was pushed into a hard cold seat facing the court, her hands were shackled down to the chair's arms.

She looked out towards the crowd pleadingly, searching for an explanation from a familiar face. She found her parents and her sister-in-law sitting side-by-side, but when she caught their eyes they all looked away. Millie was dressed in black and weeping. There were others amongst the crowd as well, inmates from Mercy's psychiatric ward, some were even from Arkham City - the Penguin himself was sitting at the back of the room, looking very bored, surrounded by his henchmen. Croc too was there, but he looked as impassive as ever, there was no recognisable human expression on his face to indicate he thought anything at all of the hearing.

'Honest people of Gotham, we are gathered there today to conduct the trial of Miss Clara Dawson,' said the lead judge, and not to her surprise Clara realised it was Two-Face. 'Hereby accused of fratricide, the murder of her own brother, Dr Dereck Dawson.'

'I didn't do it, I swear!' she shouted upon seeing the horrified looks on her parents' faces.

'Our first witness, Dr Elton Rogers.' said the Two-Face over her shouting. 'Would you please take the stand?'

She recognised Dr Rogers immediately, he had been her therapist for many months after the incident at Arkham Asylum the year before.

'There is no question as to Miss Dawson's guilt,' he began in nasally voice. 'Completely loopy, mind you. But still very guilty. When the medical personnel first found her after the murder, she stabbed one of them with a knife, completely unprovoked. Clearly she shows severe anti-social tendencies.'

'Do you deny these charges?' the judge asked Clara directly.

'Of course I do!' she shouted angrily, she was beginning to develop a headache, the smell of fresh paint was beginning to be overpowering and she had no idea where it was coming from. 'I didn't mean to do anything, I would never have killed my own brother!'

'Do you deny stabbing a medic, a person whose intentions were purely good, when they tried to rescue you in Arkham Asylum following the breakout incident?'

'I...I was terrified, I didn't know who he was! I'd only just regained consciousness! I didn't know what was going on.'

'Do you deny having a hand in your brother's death?'

Clara found herself shaking violently, she tried to get up and run, but shackled to the chair she couldn't even stand.

'I didn't kill him!' she screamed when fleeing failed. 'I would never have harmed him! I was only interning at Arkham Asylum that summer because he worked there! I wanted to be closer to family, if I hadn't I would have studied in another city!'

'And therefore the court finds you guilty of all charges,' said the judge without a further question, slamming his hammer down. 'If you had not been at Arkham Asylum that fateful night your brother would probably still be alive, and you would not be here!'

'I didn't kill him!'

'If you had not chosen to study in Gotham University he would still be alive, if you had not chosen to study Medicine he would still be alive, if you had waited outside on the night of his death he would still be alive,' the judge paused to readjust his wig, and then sneered. 'And if you had died that night, then he would still be alive. How do you plead?'

'Inno-' the word died on her lips, tears began to pour down her face. She saw her family was leaving the courtroom, they didn't look back once. And she was all alone in the insanity. 'Guilty!' she shouted. 'Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! It was all my fault! I shouldn't have been there!'

She thrashed and thrashed, desperately trying to escape from the shackles, but not matter how hard she fought she couldn't escape.

Then without warning the chair she was chained to fell through the floor.

* * *

Clara knocked her head upon the wall as she rolled. For a moment she looked up at a cracked dusty wall, she was lying nearly upside down, her legs still over the top of what appeared to be a pile of cement bags while one of her arms was folded uncomfortably beneath her. It took her more than a few moments to realise that she must had rolled off the pile in her sleep, and that she must have fallen asleep in a storage room somewhere.

Wait, since when had she slept in a storage room?

She still felt tired, but it had been a long time since she hadn't felt tired, at least she wasn't exhausted anymore. Rubbing her head she looked around slowly at the room she was lying in, the emotional upset she felt from her nightmare though made her feel as if she had just run a mile.

Yep, it was definitely a storage room, she decided. She couldn't see much from her awkward angle, lying behind the sacks of what she was pretty sure were cement and mortar, but there was grit upon the floor, and she could see wooden crates and sacks piled up to the ceiling. Not far from her was a stack of cans of paint, they had been used recently and the smell of drying paint that had dribbled out from under the lid was thick in the air.

She could also hear a rhythmic hissing, a rushing sound, and she figured there was probably a boiler nearby.

Reality abruptly became starker as she realised she had no idea what time it was, or how she had got where she was. She would be in trouble if the others thought she was shirking work, and with this thought she quickly swung her legs down so that she could get to her feet.

Shaking her head to rid herself of the last her sleep, Clara saw Dereck flicker in and out of sight in the corner of her eye. _Shit, not now_. She was just about to argue with herself over this disturbance in her vision when she saw a very much more physical threat in the room. The rhythmic hissing, she looked over to its source. Dereck, whether she liked it or not, was **not** actually in the room, but Killer Croc **was**.

Frozen she watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, his head was turned away from her, one arm slung across the pale scales of his underside; fast asleep. What was he doing here? What was she doing here?!

Then it all came rushing back to her, the night before. The others, they had been trying to kill her. Then Croc...she had grabbed him thinking he was one of them, or a pillar perhaps. She remembered how silent everything had suddenly fell, and the thing she had grabbed though covered in material it didn't feel quite like a body. The material was cloth, and felt damp beneath her fingers, but what should have been a body beneath it was too solid, uneven in shape, not tapered the way a torso should have done.

Then a roar, an angry roar, the like she had only heard once before when Killer Croc had killed that man in front of her. She heard a heavy thud and a scream, and knew that she would rather risk the other's wrath than be run down by Croc on accident.

Immediately she ripped off the blindfold and then she looked up at what she had grabbed onto, and felt as if her heart had dropped to her stomach. Clara's eyes leapt up to lock with Croc's, she couldn't stop herself, she was so scared, so certain that she was going to die.

The exhaustion she had been feeling all night, all the stress and terror, her fatigue and hunger, got the better of her. She knew it had, because she couldn't remember anything before the ceiling moving as everything became unnaturally bright and unfocused. She had lost consciousness.

But now what? How had she got here?

_You were carried obviously,_ she told herself. And then it dawned on her that Croc, being the only other person in the room, was the most likely person to have taken her down here, if it had been One-eye then he would have dragged her back to the dorms where everyone else slept.

Quickly she looked herself over, for a moment fearing that she would be missing an arm or a leg. But found she was all in one piece. Her elbows were grazed, and her legs bruised, but that was all from the chase with Zsasz and the disastrous rescue mission to the Joker's. The rescue mission seemed a hundred years before, she couldn't believe it had to have been only hours before.

Why would he have carried her here though, unless he planned to eat her? Well hah! The joke was on him, he was asleep and she wasn't restrained, if there was any better time to escape then it was now. She carefully began to tiptoe towards the door, Croc blocked much of the way, but she could climb over the sacks of cement behind him and get out easy. She smiled smugly to herself, trying to ignore the nagging concern that even once she was out of the room, she would still have to face the others and she had no immediate plan on how she was going to avoid this.

His breathing rate didn't change as she climbed, though the dry mortar was hissing as it was compressed by her weight. But then the sacks were shifting, she had dislodged them somehow, they fell towards the ground. Clara half jumped, half fell off the top, right on top of Croc's sleeping form.

And his eyes opened.

* * *

The smell of fresh paint was strong in the air, and Croc knew that the band must have repainted the carnival stands again, the colour began to flake every few months or so. Bright colours were important for the carnival, it drew the public's eye and attracted the crowds. A warm weight was upon his chest. But when he opened his eyes he saw that it was dark, but what with Becky shoving him to get up he thought it had to be morning, or perhaps late evening. It must be time for his act. Had he drifted off?

'...time already?' he mumbled, half asleep, turning to look at her.

It was not Becky.

And for one moment he was filled with an all consuming sadness. He had been dreaming, times had changed, he was no longer a carnival side-show freak and everyone else he had known who had worked there was now dead, gone, cold in the ground or at the bottom of Gotham bay.

He didn't know why she was leaning over him, but almost instinctively he grabbed hold of her when she tried to back away. She didn't scream though, she didn't even struggle, but the all familiar scent of fear was thick in the air, a constant reminder that he was not amongst friends.

'Did you carry me down here?' asked a very small voice, barely above a whisper. Her small body was trembling in his grip but she wasn't struggling to escape, instead she looked directly at his face. She sounded confused, perhaps dazed.

Had he? Croc took in the room he was currently lying in and remembered the deal, hired by the Penguin. Accommodation wasn't the best, but Croc wasn't picky, an old storage room to himself, he didn't mind that at all. And then the woman, or girl - he had no idea how old she was - she was down here because he had carried her down here, because he hadn't known what to do with her, because he had been experiencing deja vu and nostalgia like nobody's business the night before. _Huh, must have eaten something funny_.

What was he supposed to do now? Habit dictated that he got rid of any nuisances, but right now he didn't find her particularly annoying, just a distraction, and he wouldn't mind a distraction right now - especially with how his mind seemed to be insistent on reminding him of his past, something that he hadn't dwelt on in many years now.

'If you did, I'm very grateful,' delicate little fingers pressing gently around his wrist, discretely trying to relieve him of his grip, but to his surprise he found he didn't mind the touch. It wasn't even meant to be friendly, normally he associated touch with the wish to do harm, but that wasn't the case in this situation.

'The others are probably going kill me regardless,' she continued when he said nothing. 'I looked like an absolute coward.'

Was he supposed to care? In the distant past, Croc thought he could have done. But what was she trying to do, acting like he was normal?

'What are you up to?' he asked her suspiciously, cutting off any further words she might have to say regarding the situation of the evening before.

'I was going to go find my way back to the dorms, need to find out what I need to do now,' she said. 'I got responsibilities, given that they don't throw me out now.'

'Throw you out?' he asked, confused.

'Well, they don't keep what they don't want,' she shrugged her shoulders, though her grip remained on his wrist she was no longer pushing away. 'And I would say that they probably don't want me anymore,' she chuckled nervously and tried to smile at him.

Was she was trying to be friendly?

Suspicion at an all time high, he let go of her immediately, she fell out of sight with a small thump. He lay where he was, listening. He heard her get to her feet again, shuffling towards the door.

'I don't suppose that deal we had is still valid, right?' she asked cautiously, one of the two double doors pulled slightly open so that she could bolt if need be.

Deal? Oh that.

'No, it's off,' he replied, not looking at her. 'Now get lost, I want to sleep.'

She vanished without another word.

* * *

Well, that could have gone better. Clara jogged up the stairs, finding that she was not familiar with the part of the building she was in. She knew it wasn't anywhere near the dormitories though, and she still had no idea what time it was.

She soon found her way back to the upper floors, she could see light through the windows and knew it had to be sometime during the day. Everyone was generally awake at this time, though some would be trying to catch a few 'z's, no one generally went out until after dark - too easy a target for an enemy sniper.

Clara didn't have the exact time, though she knew the common room housed one lousy clock which was missing the glass cover. She didn't really want to go to the common room, but she didn't have a choice, it was either that or find One-eye, and she had no idea where he was.

She got more than a few stares on her way through, some people were lazing around as she had expected, but it seemed they were too lazy to be bothered to say anything. It wasn't until she got to the dormitories that anyone said anything to her, she bumped into Enrique, the guy from the day before that had been talking about sharks.

'Wow. And this time I really thought you were dead,' he exclaimed. 'How'd you get out of this one?'

'Eh, what are you talking about?' Clara feigned dismissively, ducking around him and heading into the next room, but then stopped and looked back. 'You wouldn't happen to know where old One-eye is, would ya?'

'One-eye?' he paused a moment. 'Oh, yeah, the crazy old guy, el tuerto. Nope, I haven't seen him. Not today anyway, he stormed off looking all kinds of angry last night though, something about his son dying. Eh, wait a moment. You're not...I mean I know that...Are you One-eye's boy? He think's you got eaten last night, everyone does. I have to ask you again, how'd you survive?'

'I don't know, guess I'm just lucky.'

'More than lucky, I heard you passed out at that monster's feet. Everyone's been-'

'I did not faint!' she exclaimed angrily, interrupting him. She was bluffing but she was honestly frightened at the possible repercussions of not being believed, so she made up a tale. 'I got knocked on the head.'

'Eh, I wasn't there. So I'll take your word for it,' Enrique said, raising his hands so that his palms faced her in a calming gesture. 'Word spreads quick though, it's what everyone is saying that happened.'

Enrique swaggered away without a backward glance, leaving Clara feeling a little stupid. _A nice guy,_ she noted in her mind, _possibly too nice, keep an eye on him just in case._ An ally though? She needed allies desperately, One-eye was pretty much useless out of being a free pass to live here, he didn't defend her and she wasn't expecting him to either. There was going to be hell to pay when the evening came, no one was going to let her live the last night down when they found out she was still alive. That and she now knew she needed to avoid loud-mouth Frankie like the plague if she wanted to continue to survive.

* * *

He didn't see much of her over the next few days, and was confused with himself when he realised that he was actually seeking her out amongst the others. He never went as far as to go looking for her, but he watched. When she was around, she skulked, either sticking very close to certain individuals or staying far away as possible from the others. Sometimes she watched him too, but it was a nervous look, not unlike that the others often gave him.

She was just as frightened of him as everyone else was, and he really shouldn't have cared less. But fate for some twisted reason had decided to dictate that now, of all times, was when he was going to feel lonely. The memories of his past at the carnival had resurfaced abruptly, and at first they had filled him with a nearly uncontrollable rage, but as that died away he found that he could not look at the stringy little rat the same way again.

Croc knew his thoughts of this matter would eventually revert, that he would see her for the pest she was again. Let time pass and things change, as they always did, for the worse. She no longer needed to have anything to do with him, she wouldn't talk to him again.

So it was a surprise when she came directly to him one night after he had been out scaring off Two-Face's troops. Even if it was accidental.

He had heard a scrambling below a grating, an air vent that ran below the storeroom that they had given to him. He hadn't hesitated a moment in ripping the grating up and grabbing the source of the noise.

'I swear I can explain!' she squeaked dangling painfully from where Killer Croc held her up by the back of her jacket. He regarded her with narrowed eyes, uncertain what to do next, her eyes were fixed on his teeth.

'Watcha doing skulking around in the vents?' he doubted already that she had even known he was there, the way she had been loudly scrambling down the airvent like a demented rabbit had been too loud to indicate sneaking. He noticed that her lip was bleeding, and there was bruising along one side of her face, the blood was still fresh - Tony had been in a fight recently, if he was not mistaken probably less than an hour or so before.

'Trying to hide, please, I'm not spying on you or nothing. It's the others, they're after me, they're always after me,' and her eyes rolled fearfully like a caged animal. He let go of her, slumping back down against the wall, to his surprise though she stayed where he had dropped her.

'Why are they after you?'

She looked at him uncertainly. 'Because they can, there isn't anything more to it,' she said quietly.

They sat in silence for a few moments.

'They don't bother you, though, do they?' she asked in wonder, leaving Croc uncertain whether to feel insulted or appreciative - surely she knew they would bother him if they thought they could get away with it? 'You're strong.'

That one last, tiny comment, immediately alerted him to what she was up to. She was sizing him up, sizing the situation up, seeing how she could use it to her advantage, how she would use him.

'No,' he growled before she could think any further over the matter. 'I'm not going to be your freaking bodyguard, don't even think about it.'

She curled back into herself, moving slightly closer to the open vent and her escape route, but she wasn't outright fleeing.

'Couldn't-'

'No!' he glared at her, but she looked back defiantly, she was scared and she injured but that just made it all the more apparent that she was desperate and wasn't going to back down so easily.

'I'm not asking you to follow me around,' she said quickly. 'I just want to know that if I stand near you, that you won't swat me away like a bug. The others won't go near me if you're nearby, they're too scared for their own lives. I'm not actually asking you to do anything.'

He regarded her suspiciously for a moment. She hadn't denied she wanted to use him, she hadn't even tried to strike a deal, like a parasite… but as far as he could see there was nothing she could do to hurt him, and she had nowhere to run if she did.

'And, I didn't figure this out till later, but you pretty much saved my life last week,' she continued with a small uncertain smile. 'I never got to say thank-'

'It wasn't intentional,' he snapped, she recoiled which was not surprising, but what did surprise him was that he felt a tinge of regret as his words. How long had it been since he had had anyone to talk to for more than a few words, that didn't want to either gut him or screw with his mind? She would turn on him as soon as his use expired, that he was sure of as the sun would rise, but that wasn't likely to be anytime soon, and if she did, or rather when she did, he would kill her.

'Thank you, nonetheless,' she said very quietly and began to crawl back down into the vent, taking his silence as a negative.

'I don't mind,' he said abruptly, and she stopped and looked at him confused, so he added. 'I don't mind if you're nearby. You're one of the Penguin's gang, I'm not supposed to hit you anyway.'

Tony - was the name short for something or was it a nickname? - paused at his words, then smiled softly. 'Thank you, this means a lot to me, I'll have to find a way to repay you at some point.'

He grunted and looked away, to be quite honest this conversation was getting quite awkward for him, he wasn't used to being spoken to like this. Croc was almost glad when he heard her moving away again. His stay in Arkham Asylum had separated him too long from the real world, days at a time with little to no company other than his own mind had left him feeling awkward and angry with any interaction whatsoever with anyone.

Growling in frustration he put his head in his hands as he listened to the last distant thuds of "Tony" as she scrambled along the air vent and beyond his hearing range.

* * *

**Quick summary of this chapter:**

Clara is dreaming, she has a nightmare that she is in court for the murder of her brother. When she wakes up she finds that she is in a storage room, but she has no idea how she got there. She quickly spots that Croc is also in the room, fast asleep. Clara tries to sneak past him, but ends up waking him up by accident. Croc is not pleased, but doesn't hurt her, he merely glares. Though he doesn't say this to her, Croc carried Clara with him the night before to the storage room because he was confused after his bout of nostalgia, but now that he is awake again he is beginning to reconsider keeping her around. They talk for a while, Croc eventually sends her away so that he can sleep, but he still feels very confused, especially now that he is on near friendly terms with Clara.

On her way back to the dorms in search of One-eye, Clara briefly runs into Enrique, she talks to him briefly and notes that he is suspiciously nice for one of the bad guys, and notes to herself to keep an eye on him just in case.

About a week has passed, Croc has been taking more notice of Clara. One evening, to his surprise finds her scrambling through an air vent. They talk for a while, ultimately Clara asks him if he will protect her from the others, Croc is reluctant to agree, but when Clara points out that he doesn't really need to do anything, he agrees.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**Uncertainty**

Having last been seen being carried off by none other than Killer Croc himself, no one had expected to see Clara again. So when word spread that crazy old One-eye's son substitute was still crawling around, no one quite believed it. Not even One-eye himself - though rather he was convinced the whole thing had seen some sort of nasty trick the others had been playing on him and that there had never been any real threat to "Tony's" life.

'I'm not to go on any further missions with ya, the boss thinks you make me screw up,' he informed her one evening. 'I'm only worth so much, see? As soon as I lose the other eye, your old man is history.'

Clara didn't really mind, One-eye rarely left the museum anyway, his long-sightedness meant he wasn't much good for field work unless it was an highly dangerous mission - he was suitable in this case as the Penguin regarded him as nearing 'retirement age'.

It had been over a week since loud-mouthed Frankie had tried to push her off the balcony now. Frankie was still around, and he was still dangerous, but Clara had so far been able to mostly evade him. He didn't like her, she knew that, but he wasn't going out of his way if he was busy to harm her, she had merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time before.

Even so, she hadn't been able to avoid trouble altogether, the bruises on her face were proof of that. It hadn't been Frankie though but the bad tempered Avery, an enemy of One-eye, who was only too happy to take out his anger on someone connected to his nemesis. She had been told it was because she hadn't been fast enough in her scouting trip that night, but she knew it was because Avery had had an argument with the patrol's leader.

Clara had barely escaped what could have been serious injuries, having broke into a run as soon as the first blow had struck home, despite her reeling head she was fast and knew how to hide. An open air ventilation system had seemed reasonable, and some part of her feverish thoughts stuck on the idea that perhaps if she followed the vents far enough then maybe she might be able to get out of the building and flee back into the streets, she felt reckless and was ready to brave the cold.

And then she had run into Croc.

Now when she looked at Croc she found she no longer regarded him as an inhumane monster, but nor did she quite see him as human - to be honest she didn't really regard anyone here as human, they were likely all monsters in some form or another. Instead she saw him as simply another danger to avoid, but at the same time it was only logical to think that if he had saved her once then he could do it again.

She had watched him and wondered, ever since the week before. There was only one feeling that filled her mind, and it was not terror nor even gratitude but jealousy. Clara wasn't stupid, in fact she reckoned she was reasonably clever, and in turn this meant she also had the potential to be quite sly. She could by no means manipulate her own physical strength but already an idea had formed in her mind. If she could not have power herself then perhaps she could use that of someone else's - namely Croc - the only question now was how?

When she had found him this time, Clara had seen the change in him, she wouldn't fool herself into thinking that he wanted her around, but she knew that at least he tolerated her. Psychology was not a field she had ever covered, and what made things even worse was that it was nearly impossible to guess what Croc was thinking. He would be snarling one second, then fuming silently the next - only she couldn't really tell if he was fuming_._

He needn't have agreed to anything, she wasn't offering anything return, but he had anyway. Clara had her own suspicions that he might still turn nasty, but she couldn't help but hold onto the vague hope that perhaps at the very least found her less annoying than the others. Was he even capable of empathy? He was supposed to be cannibalistic mass murderer who had been committed to an asylum until recently. She knew that any form of kindness here had to be scrutinised carefully.

* * *

'It's quite simple really.' the Penguin was saying. 'The Joker really likes to stick his fingers near the metaphorical fan blades, meaning that sooner rather than later he overreaches and screws up. Recently, his gang's been trying to reach over the river, but we're not going to let that happen!'

Clara was standing near Enrique, listening with her arms crossed, trying to look as big as possible. The patrol weren't paying any attention to her though, they were all busy listening to the Penguin who was briefing them on tonight's mission.

There was a building just north of the steel mill on their side of the river, supposedly Joker was now beginning to transfer his power over in order to expand his empire. Their patrol party, some 30 strong, 10 of whom were armed with assault riffles, and a tank to back them up - or rather Croc - were to take out any opposition they might find in the place.

'Kid, you don't need to stress so much,' Enrique said to her as they neared their destination around half an hour later, they had already passed through Two-Face's domain, so a relatively sense of calm had descended. 'We're a big party, well armed.'

'Yeah, well you don't have to go in alone first,' replied Clara, doing her best to sound indifferent. 'Besides, I'm good at my job. If I wasn't, I'd be dead by now. I can stress as much as I like if I can still get the job done.' She squared her shoulders and held her head high, trying her best to look more imposing. One of Enrique's friends, with a mohawk, dark skin and a large gut, slapped her on the shoulder laughing.

'You're got some heart kid.' he said. 'You're alright.'

'Quiet back there, Elvis!' their patrol leader hissed back at them, stalking back to square off with Elvis personally, he also glared briefly at Clara but didn't seem to think she was worth any further intimidation. 'We're professionals, not pranksters! That's what separates us, from them! It is why we'll ultimately win and Joker's lot will be left to rot in the gutter. Got it?!'

Clara glanced back over her shoulder as Elvis hastily apologised. She knew loud-mouthed Frankie was not on this particular mission, though he had supposed to be - no one had been able to find him when it was time to leave - but he wasn't who she was looking for. She could see Croc heading up the rear of the patrol, a small distance behind the rest of them because everyone was certain to keep a fair distance ahead of him. He was the Penguin's trump card, though his alliance was no longer such a secret, Joker and Two-Face had both no doubt had reports of his presence by now.

* * *

And somehow, Joker had known they were coming.

Nonchalantly Croc had watched as Tony ran off ahead on her own, sent to scout out the area ahead. Not five minutes later though she had burst out from the building being chased by what at first appeared to be two dogs, but he quickly realised they were hyenas of all things. Needless to say, as soon as these two unfortunate animals appeared on the street they were shot down in volley of bullets, only narrowly missing Tony who promptly flung herself behind a dustbin for cover.

Then the foot soldiers arrived. The regiment was led by none other than Harley Quinn herself, all of them were armed with firearms. Quinn managed to hurl a volley of choice insults in a banshee like wail a them, and then an all out gunfight broke out.

Only for moments later for the Joker's side to retreat back into the building, way too easily. They had headed in after them nonetheless.

As they went deeper into the building the group began to split up. Tony being sent up the stairs alone. There didn't appear to be anyone there, Croc immediately assumed they were hiding, but found that he couldn't smell them either and dropped his guard. Had they really just retreated like that?

_'BANG!'_

Abruptly there was uproar, several explosions going off in sequence behind them, the roof caved in and blocked the main exit. And over the rumble of raining rubble it he could just vaguely hear the intercoms echoing out around the building.

'I'm sorry, chaps, but this is a private residence,' Joker distinctive cackle could be heard over the speakers. 'No animals allowed. That includes penguins! But don't worry about my little pest problem, because I've just called the exterminators and they've kindly organised for the entire place to be fumigated! Good day to you all!'

Croc wasn't really listening though, he was running to get out of there. All around him the others were scrambling to get out too, he paid them no attention and probably knocked more than a few over in his hurry. That was when a new danger presented itself, he caught scent of it before he saw it, green laughing gas was hissing in from canisters placed around the walls.

Killer Croc hadn't felt fear for many years now, there was little that could threaten him, but he was not invincible and he remembered the agony of the last explosion he had been caught in. The one that had torn through Gotham Pier when the carnival exploded as he had fought to put out the unquenchable flames side by side with his many panicking co-workers. It had all been over in a flash when the fire reached the generators and set the fuel alight. He remembered the searing white heat and falling into the harbour, covered in gashes caused by flying debris, his whole body aching as if it had been crushed beneath building, and nearly everyone else was dead. But even though that wasn't now, it felt almost as if it could be.

Croc did not consider himself a coward, but right now he knew he had to get out. It Joker was going to bring this whole place down anyway, what was the point in being crushed along with it?

The house was narrow and did not allow Croc much room to move, but he saw a hall and began to charge down it, intent on knocking down the far end wall. Only then one inmate darted ahead of him in a manic attempt to escape, and as they slowed down to wrestle useless with the bars blocking one window, he realised it was Tony.

He only just managed to stop himself short of crushing her, then the roof above him fell down.

* * *

Clara shielded her head and ducked into a corner, keeping herself as small as possible until the cave-in was over. The rumbling went on for a while as the structure of the rest of the house teetered on the verge of collapse.

When she eventually looked up she found that the entire ceiling of the room just a few meters away from her had caved in. The rumbling had stopped, and in the silence she saw that a thin layer of powdered plaster settled over everything, the barred window to her left had lost most of its glass but she already knew she couldn't get out that way.

She turned her attention then to the rubble, from which she could see no movement. Clara realised that she was alone and that Killer Croc had to be buried beneath the mound of brick and mortar in front of her.

In the ensuing silence she sat still for several moments, not knowing what to do.

Dereck was looking down at her from the top of the pile of rubble, shaking his head.

'Clara, just go home, this career choice just isn't working out for you,' he said.

'Don't you think I would have if I could?!' she snapped at him, but drew a self-destructive comfort from the fact that she could still see him. 'It wasn't my fault! None of it was my fault! It couldn't have been avoided!'

'There were plenty of opportunities you could have taken that would have led away from this path,' Dereck said, opening a briefcase and taking out a stack of papers which he began to look over. 'There are many 'ifs', so many in fact that I don't think I could ever list them all. Trivial tiny things.'

'That doesn't matter anymore!' she replied, but there was less force behind her words, she knew the argument was pointless as she was arguing with herself not Dereck, who had been lain to rest in a coffin for over a year now. 'I will continue to survive! Dereck would never have wanted anything else.'

'Him over you? Are you sure about that? What about mom and dad? What about his friends, his wife?' Dereck was beginning to look a lot less like Dereck now and whole lot more like a twisted warped shadow.

'There is nothing I can do now, I just need to get out of here-' Clara stopped as the rubble in front of her shifted and Dereck vanished like a puff of smoke.

A clawed hand abruptly broke free through the rubble, grasping at the air before swiping down and digging into the ground, it was shortly followed by another. Clara nervously shifted from foot to foot in the corner as Killer Croc dug his way partially out of the rubble, his arms clearing the fallen bricks and mortar from over his head. He snorted once, clearing his lungs, then blinked his eyes and spotted Clara pressing herself back into the wall.

'Little rat,' he grumbled, then he pushed up with his arms again as he tried to pull the rest of himself free. Instead the rubble above him shifted and more landslided down. Exhausted by his efforts to get free, he rested for a moment.

'Y-you okay?' she asked nervously, inching closer to the barred window – even though there was no way of her getting through it if things did turn nasty.

He merely snarled wordlessly in reply.

'Maybe I can help?' she suggested, though she had no idea if she could actually do anything in this situation.

Killer Croc completely disregarded her now, closing his eyes and snarling again. Still half buried beneath the heavy rubble, Clara realised he had to be in pain, she knew if she, or anyone else normal, had been in his place they would dead. Clara's only escape route though lay through the pile of rubble that Croc was currently buried under, and the only way she was going to be able to move it was if he could help. So despite every instinct screaming at her to keep her distance, Clara moved over to grab and pull away at the lighter rubble, throwing it back into the empty corner she had been in before.

Croc was watching her, he tried to shift again, this time he moved a little further forward but once again further rubble settled down on top. He stopped, realising that he was in danger of re-burying himself if he moved too fast. Clara continued trying to clear away what she could.

She could now see a gap over the top of the rubble into the next room, if she wanted she could flee now and leave Croc behind.

But she didn't.

The action of her staying when she could have gone though was not completely altruistic. She knew she would be safer travelling if she wasn't alone, and then there was also the fact that when Killer Croc did get out he would no doubt be furious. _'See it as an opportunity to make friends!'_ her mind suggested with an insane giggle, causing Clara to nearly laugh out loud because of the preposterous idea. But if there was even the slightest chance she could get on his good side, she knew she would have the one of the strongest of bodyguards that Arkham City had to offer.

With that thought in mind, she put extra force into her digging.

'Where are the others?' Croc asked, resting again.

'I think they all left,' she replied, uneasily, she still felt nervous when she spoke to him. 'I haven't heard or seen anyone since before the roof collapsed.'

Croc growled in exertion as he tried to pull himself free again. He was free up to his waist now and it would only take another try or so for him to be out altogether. There were several gashes running down his back and over his arms where rebar and other sharp debris had cut into him. The wounds bled sluggishly, but it alarmed Clara nonetheless as she had somehow thought that Croc couldn't be hurt.

'I heard you speaking to someone,' he stated, molten eyes regarding her suspiciously.

'...There wasn't anyone else,' she said after a pause, suddenly horribly embarrassed. How much had he heard? 'You know I'm not lying, you'd be able to smell them, wouldn't you?'

Croc heaved again, and finally pulled himself free, he lay still for a moment and without thinking Clara reached forward to dust off some of the dust that had accumulated in between the ridges of scales upon his back. She drew back instantly when Croc shifted, turning to look at her suspiciously.

'I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking,' she apologised quickly, stepping back and looking away, but she couldn't move far in the confined space.

Croc didn't reply, seemingly having lost interest in her again, and was now sitting up and rolling his shoulders and neck. Clara for a moment watched him, awed by his sheer presence, and not for the first time wished she could borrow his strength for just one day; then maybe she could smash her way out of the compound and escape. Then she turned away before he could notice her gaze and became aggravated.

She began climb up the mound of rubble, past Croc, carefully picking her footing, keeping low so that her profile was less visible as she reached the top and looked over. She could see that most of the rooms beyond had also had their ceilings collapse, though she could no longer see any signs of the green laughing gas – apparently the outrush of air from the collapsing structure had dissipated it. There was no movement beyond, but Clara could see several dust covered forms that looked suspiciously like bodies.

'I don't think our patrol is here any longer,' she said, looking back over her shoulder to Croc. 'But maybe it's best we get out now, I don't think we won and more of Joker's crew will be turning up soon.'

Croc was regarding her curiously from where he still sat, when he stood up he had to crouch because the ceiling was too low, Clara began to see a logistical problem in getting Croc out through the tiny crack of light she was half through now.

'Erm, I think we're going to need to do a bit more digging,' she suggested.

'What do they call you?' Croc asked unexpectedly, grasping the metal bars of the shattered window and tearing it out with ease, opening a hole in the wall. What remained of the ceiling overhead rumbled ominously but stayed put.

'What do they call me?' Clara paused for a moment, surprised as she was sure that he would have overheard the others talking to her. 'They call me Tony.' She tried to smile at him, but was unable to hold it, and quickly looked away again. She looked up nervously as dust began to fall from the ceiling, the destruction of the window having further destabilised the structural integrity of the building.

Croc got out of the building, quickly followed by Clara.

The cold night air hit them and Clara shivered, digging her hands deep into her pockets to stop the shaking of her fingers, and wondered if Killer Croc could feel the chill as well.

* * *

He was aching all over, his wounds stung. He was in the middle of freaking nowhere, the rest of the gang had ran off, and he was freezing! And now he was going to have to walk miles to get back.

'Should we look for survivors?' Tony asked, jogging to catch up with him. She seemed torn at the idea of leaving, and kept glancing back towards the ruin. Croc didn't feel such responsibilities though, and continued trudging onwards, ignoring Tony as she skittered about uncertainly.

A warm trickle ran down the inside of his arm, he looked down and with irritation wiped the blood off on his trousers, the injuries were not all that bad, he had survived much worse.

'You're bleeding,' Tony commented unexpectedly.

'I ain't dead,' Croc replied, he glared when she flinched away, but that was to be expected - most people would have been running away by now. 'How did you get in with Penguin's boys anyhow? How many did ya have to kill?'

Tony was silent for a moment, and Croc suspected that she was going to blank him as people often did when they wanted to get away from him.

'...I didn't get in the traditional way.' Tony said abruptly, wringing her hands nervously, but he was surprised to note that she was making an effort to keep up with him. 'It's kind of hard to explain. What I basically mean is that I never had to face anyone in the fighting pit.'

That explained a few things, Croc knew from the past few days that anyone who wanted to get into the gang had to fight for the right, and most of thought who fought didn't survive the match, especially if the Penguin grew bored. Croc hadn't needed to go through this ritual, there was no question about his strength, but frail little Tony didn't look like she would have lasted long at all. How had she got in?

Tony took his silence response as a cue to elaborate.

'It's kind of funny actually,' Tony continued, she didn't sound remotely amused though, chewing on her lip and looking away. 'One of them thinks he knows me, thinks we're related or something, the Penguin is just humouring him by letting me stay on. I don't know for how much longer it's going to last though.'

He grunted, acknowledging her statement. 'Most people don't want others around once they've outlived their use,' he agreed.

'I don't really fancy being thrown in the shark lake though, or fed to his monster, so I hope that doesn't happen anytime soon,' Tony replied, sounding a little more confident now that he was also talking.

'His monster?' Croc asked a bit sharply, wondering if she had inadvertently referred to him. Tony seemed to pick up on this because she fell back a little, putting more space between them.

'I didn't mean-, he keeps this thing locked up in a dungeon under the dining hall,' she said quickly. 'I've never seen it, I don't even know what it is, but I know he's dropped people down there that have disappointed him. Simply calls him the "big man".'

Croc vaguely knew what she was talking about, he smelt the scent of carrion the few times he had been in the dining hall and at first had thought it came from the kitchens, later though he realised the scent was rising up, eerily through the floor itself though it appeared to be made of solid stone.

* * *

There was a great hubbub in the front hall when they got back. Clara at first thought that perhaps Zsasz had broken free, but then she caught sight of him leering at the chaos from behind the glass in the cabinet he was locked in. She didn't stop to ask what had happened, and followed in Croc's wake before the others had a chance to block the way inadvertently as they crowded around - either trying to force their way through or make their way out again.

Croc pushed forth through the crowd like an ice-breaker, those who didn't see him coming were knocked sprawling.

When they reached the arena, and one of the first things Clara noticed was that there was a massive hole in one of the walls, amongst other things most of the fencing around the ring was either torn up or gone completely. Croc had stopped, and was sniffing the air. After a moment he seemed to blanch, then he was moving again. She was half tempted to follow him but found she had no reason to do so.

The Penguin was no where to be seen, nor were any others she immediately recognised from the failed mission, so Clara wasn't quite sure where to check-in. Clara had spotted Enrique by now talking with some other people, he had been part of the patrol and he wasn't particularly nasty, maybe he knew what she was supposed to do now? She decided to break off here.

'Erm, see you later Croc,' she said hesitantly, and when he barely glanced at her in recognition she turned away and went over to the others.

'Hey Tony! You're still alive!' Enrique immediately said, now sporting a bandaged left arm and several small gashes in his face from flying shrapnel. 'We all thought that your skills had finally failed you.'

'Nah, I just got a little hold up by the cave-in,' she replied, downplaying the situation with a toothy smile, then gestured rather exaggeratedly at the scene before them. 'So what did I miss? Looks like it was quite the party.'

'Don't feel left out, we missed it too, bud,' said Elvis pushing Enrique out of the way so he could speak. 'Apparently Bane broke in here. You know, the big bulky guy with the steroid problem? I think he was after TITAN, the same stuff that the Joker was using the night of the Arkham breakout last year, the stuff that made him sick, don't know why anyone would want it after that…'

'And he made all this mess?' she asked disbelievingly at the utterly destroyed room. 'How the hell did the Penguin get rid of him!?'

'Two words,' replied Elvis holding his breath for one moment for dramatic effect. 'Solomon Grundy.'

* * *

Later that night, Killer Croc made his way outside into the cargo bay behind the museum, though it was cold he knew she was out here somewhere and he was going to find her. Perhaps it was out of boredom that he sought her out, he wasn't sure, there was little to do around the museum when you weren't working after all. He had more than once hung around in the Iceberg Lounge, but right now he did not want the bright lights, the loud voices and the staring.

There were people out here too, though not many of them, huddled around fires burning in tin barrels, eating their food rations and talking amongst themselves in low voices. They watched him warily, and more than a few actually moved away from where they had been standing to get away. Croc paid no attention to them though, following his nose until he came upon a large pile of wooden crates. Tony was somewhere very close by. He could hear her talking quietly but to his surprise he couldn't smell anyone else.

He crouched down with a huff to look between the crates where some had been pushed aside, and was rewarded with the sight of Tony whacking her head when she leapt up in surprise at his abrupt appearance.

'H-hey, Croc,' she said trying to sound friendly, but wasn't able to completely keep the fear out of her voice. 'What's up?'

Croc regarded her for a moment, then shifted uncomfortably to cross his arms over his chest.

'You're hiding,' he commented, then he moved to sit down so that his shadow was no longer looming over her.

'Maybe. I dunno, it's not like I'm doing something I'm not supposed to,' replied Tony uneasily, drawing her legs closer to herself.

Croc looked back over his shoulder and could see the others still milling around, none of them were showing any interest in coming over to investigate though, and it was just well, he had quickly come to the conclusion that Tony was deliberately avoiding them.

'The others, they still give you trouble?' he asked as casually as he could, but he actually found speaking like this rather awkward. Why was he out here again? He was no good at small talk.

'Not when I'm working, umm, usually,' Tony answered indirectly. She was pulling herself out from her hiding spot to sit slightly closer to him, she was trying to smile again but it was clear she was struggling, body as tense as a spring.

'Hmph,' Croc crossed his arms, then winced as his claws grazed past one of the deep cuts on his arm.

'Are you okay?' Tony asked, then as if realising she had done something wrong her eyes widened. 'I don't mean to be patronising or anything like that, it's just that your cuts...'

'They'll heal,' Croc replied with a snort, the abrupt sound caused Tony to recoil and hit her head again; this was getting irritating... 'Stop that, I'm not going to eat you! Your fear it's stinking up the place.'

This of course only made things worse, Tony had picked up on the aggression in his voice and had frozen, she wasn't running but she wasn't talking either. She looked so suspicious of him, so untrusting and for a moment he fell some sort of kinship with her.

Croc exhaled, and then gestured for her to come closer. Tony stayed where she was.

'I'm not going to bite,' he growled, unable to avoid feeling a little irritated. 'Just stand so I'm not towering over you...Tony was it?'

'Yes, that's what they call me,' she replied, shakily getting to her feet and doing her best to hold her head high. 'Is there something you need help with?'

'I don't want nothing right now, just trying to talk,' he told her, but saying this just made her look more uneasy. 'You remember that deal we made? The one about me not swatting you if you wanted to use me as deterrent? I wanted to change the rules a little.'

She nodded slowly, waiting for him to continue, her gaze on the ground as if she expected the worse.

'I'm upping the offer, I'm offering full protection-'

'R-really? You would do that?' Tony interrupted, and her overeager expression gave everything away on how desperate she was for such a solution; but it was then that she seemed to remember who she was talking to and asked more coldly. 'What would you want in return?'

'…' Croc was silent for a moment, he had already thought about this before he had even come looking for her but he wasn't sure how to phrase it. He jabbed a thumb towards where the others were eating. 'I want you to rat on the others, you tell me everything that you hear going on in this gang. You tell me of any plans they or the Penguin have. I don't normally get told anything until it's crunch time, a need to know only basis, and I don't like it.'

'I can try- I mean I can do that,' Tony nodded her head assuredly. 'Anything I hear, I'll go straight to you.' Then she wrung her hands a little. 'I should probably point out now that I don't hear everything, I don't generally go anywhere near the Penguin's war room or anything like that, I just overhear stuff from others.'

'That will do for now,' Croc agreed, and got to his feet. 'When I think of something else, you'll know.'

'Alright, it's a deal,' Tony said, holding out one dainty hand to him. She wanted to shake hands with him? Tony began to withdraw her hand after a few moments but quickly his black claws caught around her wrist and held it firmly in place. Her bony wrist felt like a twig in his grip, and just as fragile.

'Deal,' he rumbled, and then just as quickly he let go.

* * *

**A/N: **The brief Bane reference was referring to an event in the Arkham: Unhinged comics.

Thank you for the reviews :)

TurtleKidTheWoolGatherer = I'm sort of glad everyone is coming across quite selfish, at this point in time everyone is just out to keep themselves alive. Any selfless thoughts that Clara might have for anyone else are locked away at this point, she doesn't trust anyone and only fights on to keep herself alive. Ironically this is pretty much the same for Killer Croc.

SunnyCroc = You know you just gave me an idea for later on in the story regarding the name thing. I love your reviews! :D

**Quick summary of this chapter:**

About a week has passed, Clara has not being having a very fun time. The others within the gang have taken to hitting her and insulting her when One-eye isn't around, as they see her as a waste of resources as well as an easy target to take out any frustrations they might be feeling. Clara quickly learns how to avoid such situations but one evening she is cornered by Avery - an enemy of One-eye's - who tries to beat her up. She is only just able to escape, hiding in a air vent she finds. Desperate to escape, she scrambles up along it, intent on following as far as it will go to leave. She ended up running into Croc again whom she then formed a semi-alliance with - semi as in with not very clear details, though Clara believes it will help her survive.

There is a mission to stop the Joker from expanding his territory beyond the river. He somehow already knows about this plan though, and a trap is sprung including explosions and laughing gas. Croc and Clara are separated from the others in the confusion. They have to make their way back on their own.

When they return they find that in the meantime, Bane has apparently smashed up the area and made a huge hole in the wall. Clara goes to talk to the others to find out more. Later on, when she is sitting out on her own, Croc deliberately goes searching for Clara to talk to her. He reassures her of their previous deal in an agreement that she will share any information she overheards from the others with him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**Trust**

'When I find out who's the bastard that's been snitching, I'm going to wring his bloody neck!' the Penguin's shouting echoed in the hallway. 'Jim! Jim, you lilly-livered bastard, where are you?! Get over here!'

Clara hung back towards the edge of the room, but she wasn't the only one, the whole room looked as if they'd rather be elsewhere. When the Penguin was angry, people tended to die, that was a matter of principle. This gathering had been called abruptly without any prior warning, Clara had been one of the last to arrive, and as such had no idea what was happening.

'What's going on?' she asked Enrique quietly.

'That noise you hear in there,' he said, jerking his chin in the direction of the uproar. 'That's the sound of the boss realising he doesn't know who to pin the blame on for yesterday's screw up.'

'You've got to admit it's very suspicious,' muttered another, taller and paler than Enrique but not quite as talkative - Clara believed he was called Tom or something like that. 'We turn up, and they're already waiting for us? The whole place was rigged, we were lucky to get out with our lives.'

'There have been snitches before, remember Grisby? Selling out secrets to the Joker?'

'What happened to him?' Clara asked, though she suspected she already knew.

Elvis slowly drew one finger across his throat in a deliberate motion. 'He got dropped through this trapdoor in the dining hall, you know the place with all the stuffed polar bears? Got fed to the "big man".'

They stopped talking immediately when the Penguin came marching into view, several armed thugs and Sickle the one-armed behemoth close behind him. His seething rage seemed to permeate the room, no one dared utter a sound.

'Okay, listen up you slugs!' he shouted, folding his hands across the end of his umbrella. 'As you twits bloody ought to know, last night someone doubled-crossed us! Now you all know how much I hate double-crossers, so you'll have no difficulty understanding me when I say that there is a pretty penny for anyone who can turn the ratbag over!'

They all remained silent, the atmosphere was still too tense for anyone to say anything without certainty.

'Really?' the Penguin drawled irritably. 'You lot are either the biggest bunch of twits I've ever set my eyes on, either that or someone here is _lying_.'

He glared at them expectantly, daring them to challenge his authority. When he was certain that no one was going to speak, he continued his speech.

'However that ain't why you rotters were called here. You lot are going to go on a little expedition. You see, apparently Joker's boys think it's _funny_ to squat by our drop zone and wait to steal our goods, but you know what I think's funny? That they think we won't smash them into oblivion for uttering such disrespect!'

* * *

'Okay boys, that's a wrap, let's get these bodies out of here. And take back whatever goods are left to the museum,' shouted one of the senior crew, taking the lead of the mission in the absence of their leader – who had come down with a violent case of bullet-through-head syndrome.

It was a cold night, as all the previous nights had been, but after having spent several hours outside now the chill was beginning to get to him. The mission was over, they had won, all of the Joker's thugs were either dead, dying or gone. All that was left now was to clean up and head back.

Croc supposed this was like how it had used to be before he had found permanent residence in Arkham Asylum, when he had run with gangs, but just like then it was a matter of staying alive, and he was left feeling hollowed out. Anger, when it surged through his veins, was powerful but it burnt out fast, he couldn't be angry all the time and when he wasn't he felt himself slipping ever faster into a pit of despair, which then made him angry again. He fought for his life, but what was it all for? He had no long-term goals, he had few to no plans beyond simply surviving. These thoughts led to anger again, but just as quickly that would fade and the cycle would reset.

Nearby he could see Tony moving about, he wasn't quite sure what she was doing, he guessed scavenging. She was definitely sneaking, as she searched around for anything useful in the few spare crates while no one was looking - well, except for him. But she knew he could see her because more than once he had spotted her looking up to check where he was. Apparently she had decided that he wasn't likely to say anything on the matter, and she was right, he couldn't care less if she was stealing, it was her decision not his, as far as he was concerned it was trivial.

Croc finished flinging the last of the dead bodies from the fight onto the street and out of the warehouse, where they would be left until the TYGER guards spotted and removed them. He took one last look around to check his job was done, seeing nothing else that needed moving he decided that his work there was over, and turned on his heel to head back to the museum. He had barely made it a few steps before he heard someone hurrying to follow him.

He turned abruptly, thinking that perhaps some idiot was charging him. But it was Tony. She flinched at his sudden move, but she did not leave, instead she put her hands in her pockets and gave him an uneasy smile.

'Erm, nice night?' she stated unexpectedly.

He looked at her, puzzled at her attempt to start a conversation.

'It's getting colder,' he remarked, then turned and carried on his walk back to the museum. Tony was trying to maintain a casual outward appearance, but she practically had to run to keep up with him. She kept straining her neck back to look behind them, watching for danger, but he was pleasantly surprised that in this situation she ignored his presence, the danger she was watching out for wasn't him.

'Yeah, really hoping here that it doesn't snow. I can't imagine having trudge through icy mulch to get from place to place, it's cold enough already,' she replied quietly, as if afraid of being overheard. It was very possible she didn't want to be caught talking to him, and it wouldn't be the first time this had happened to him.

His thoughts drifted to icy mulch, or mud, or whatever she was referring to, and looked at his own bare feet. Yeah, he was hoping there wouldn't be any snow either. He could handle the cold most of the time, he had his thick skin to thank for that, he could swim for hours without becoming cold, but this had its limits and his immense size meant that he wasn't likely to stumble across any clothing in his size, let alone a coat or jacket. Amongst many others things, the cold was one of the reasons he had immediately sought out the underground as shelter when he had arrived in Arkham City. It had been summer when he arrived, but he remembered how cruel Gotham's winters could be – and it had been his last refuge before he had been committed to Arkham Asylum years before.

'Hey Croc! The boss needs you to move this cargo!' shouted harsh voice from behind them, and he realised his departure hadn't gone unnoticed.

He hissed in irritation and turned back, Tony made to follow him but then seemed to think re-think this decision and headed off in a different direction, going back to what she had been doing before, sneaking around.

...

It was little more than five minutes later though, when his acute hearing picked up on the sound of a scuffle. He thought nothing of it at first, until he saw who it involved and felt a surprising surge of anger.

'You think you can just take what you like because you found it, street-rat?!' a thug was shouting, he had someone in a headlock who was struggling fiercely to break free.

It was Tony, she had been caught snooping around. It really wasn't really his place to interfere, but he felt no loyalty to the Penguin's henchmen. Croc had a distinct dislike of bullies, he remembered them all too well from his childhood, mobbing him, chasing on him, driving him away. While this scene was hardly the same, he felt a dark rage fill him, and he stopped what he was doing immediately.

Storming over, Croc grabbed the back of Tony's jacket and pulled her up off the ground, effectively yanking her out of the thug's grip. Upon catching sight of him the thug stumbled backwards, grinned nervously and shuffled off hurriedly. Croc was half tempted to go after him, but knew on this occasion it wasn't worth it, the Penguin hadn't been happy the last time he had accidentally killed off one of his colleagues. There were others here too, most of them armed, and if they thought their lives were in danger they wouldn't hesitate to take potshots at him.

Tony had stopped struggling as soon as she was pulled free, but now she hyperventilated in his grip, glaring after the retreating figure of the thug.

'It was his fault, I wasn't doing anything,' she lied, trying to look back over her shoulder at him but she was finding it hard, suspended up in the air as she was. Croc saw her slip something into one pocket, trying to hide it.

'What's was that?' he asked, if she wouldn't tell him he would check for himself, he didn't like being lied to.

Tony though, didn't make any further attempt to be secretive, and somewhat reluctantly reached into her pocket and withdrew a pack of plain playing cards.

'One of the Joker's guys had them on him,' she grumbled. 'Everyone else is pillaging, why can't I? It's not like they're worth much.'

Well, that was sadly pathetic reason actually, he thought, he had expected her to have been stealing money or weaponry.

He lowered her back to the ground, Tony immediately turned to face him again, and Croc noted they were mostly alone - the others were at the other end of the warehouse, including the one who had been arguing with Tony. Were they up to something? It was the same every time, no matter who he was hired by, everyone strove to keep away from him, some team they were...

'I don't suppose you erm, know any card games?' Tony's unexpected question brought his attention back to the present. She sounded a little nervous but she was looking up at him expectantly, and in her hands she still held the pack of cards out.

'I know a few,' he replied, uncertain whether she was indirectly asking him if he wanted to play.

'Well umm, would you want to...?' she was a little too nervous to quite voice the whole question aloud.

To be honest Croc was pleasantly surprised by the suggestion. Card games were something he was very familiar with. Back in his circus days, card games had been a regular source of entertainment in the long breaks between acts, as electricity was only supplied to the tents when the generators were running, and to save fuel the generators were generally only turned on at night for lighting - meaning that things like TVs were generally not run.

But that was not here nor now. He did not know Tony all that well, and he certainly didn't trust her. Either she was up to something or she was just incredibly bored.

'Somewhere else,' he replied after a small silence. 'Later.'

'Oh, cool,' was her quiet reply and she grinned to herself. Tony then turned to look in the direction in which the thug had fled. 'You could have done something to him, you know? Knocked him down or something,' she said in a surprisingly malicious tone, Croc was given the impression that this was not the first time Tony had had a run in with that particular inmate.

'If I'd have done that, the others would have shot at me,' he growled.

'Hmm, well, I wish I could've knocked him over.' she muttered, and looked up at him out of the corner of her eye slyly. 'I suppose I should be giving my first report, since I owe you and all.'

'Somewhere else,' he repeated. He thought for a moment, it wouldn't be so bad to have someone to talk to, an ally. Besides, he wanted to know if she had unearthed anything since the day before.

'Alright,' she replied. 'I'll find you.'

* * *

There was something quite strangely comforting about the idea of having Killer Croc as an ally, at least in Arkham City – Clara knew that if she were anywhere else this probably wouldn't be the case – so she was eager to keep up her end of the bargain and had gone out of her way to be as talkative as possible, at least with Enrique's group, while in other cases she practiced her spying skills and had listened in on any conversation she could.

Currently, Clara was searching for Croc. She wasn't familiar with where he normally spent his time, though she had seen him lounging around in the mess hall once but she had already checked there. So now she was on the lower floor, near the fighting arena which was currently unoccupied, she had found Enrique and some others moving crates.

'Hey, Enrique,' she called, running over. 'I don't suppose you could spare a minute?'

'Kind of busy right now, Tony,' he replied, arms straining to hold the heavy crate up.

'It's just a quick question,' she persisted, walking beside him. 'Have you seen Croc around? I've been looking all over for him.'

Enrique heaved the crate into place and put it down with a thud, he frowned at her. 'Now why in the hell would you be looking for Croc? Didn't he try to eat you?'

'Eat me?' Clara paused for a moment. 'Oh, nah, nah. That was just a misunderstanding.'

'I'd avoid him if I were you, but if you must know, I think you might find him on the floor below this one, near the dungeon. Don't say I didn't warn you when he kills you.'

...

It was the same place she had been taken to before, but she had doubted Croc would be there at that moment, she had seen the room for herself and she knew there was nothing to do there. But she thought she might as well try, if he was there then having a conversation in private with him wouldn't be as hard as it would be in a room full of potential eavesdroppers.

So that was where she looked.

Down on the dungeon level, there didn't appear to be anyone around. It was dark, cavernous place with high ceilings and angular architecture, and somehow horribly warm, there was a distinctly rotten smell that permeated the entire floor which left Clara wondering what exactly was making such a stink. She had noticed it last time she had been through here, but she had been in such a hurry to get out of there she hadn't paid any attention to it at the time.

While she was stumbling around, trying to find her way, she passed a massive barred metal door reinforced with chains, it was here the smell seemed to be at its strongest, there was also the distinctive scent of burning. Deciding that she didn't actually want to know in the least what was actually causing the smell, Clara quickly moved on to look elsewhere.

Eventually she came to a tunnel, that led to a door that lay ajar, she was certain it was where she had been before but the room was bathed in darkness. Presuming no one was there, she began to turn away. But then a Croc's voice came hissing out from the darkness.

'Tony,' He emerged from the shadows, looming as big as ever, the ceiling here high enough that he didn't need to slouch.

'H-hey.' she greeted, and tried then failed not to cower.

'Was wonderin' where you were,' he said. 'You alone?'

'Erm, as far as I know,' she replied, suddenly feeling like she had no reason to be there and it had been stupid to come. What if he thought what she had learnt wasn't good enough?

Croc was silent for a moment, he briefly leaned to one side to look up the hall, he didn't seem to know what to say next. Clara unintentionally chipped in, as her sense of smell got the better of her and she wrinkled her nose and looked back towards the chained door, subconsciously drawing one hand up to cover her nose.

'It's carrion,' Croc commented, also looking over towards the chained door. 'Human carrion, smells burnt too.' He seemed to grimace, but Clara wasn't sure if she imagined it.

'What's that room used for?'

'I'm thinking disposal,' Croc replied, looking down at her. 'Originally thought it was a furnace, but there's no fumes, no smoke. Never seen no one go in there.'

'Hmm,' Clara had crossed her arms, horrific images conjuring themselves in her mind's eye of what could lie beyond the chained door. She hoped she never had to find out, though she suspected that this locked off room was directly below the dining hall, hadn't someone said something about the Penguin dropping off undesirables through a trap door?

Croc sniffed the air once more, looking around, and Clara knew without a doubt that he was checking they were alone with his keen sense of smell. Then he silently stepped back into the storeroom, she hesitantly followed him. He turned on the light as she went in.

* * *

He watched with wonder as Tony made her way past him, climbing up on top of the nearest pile of cement bags and sitting herself down. He really hadn't expected her to come.

'I wasn't sure where to find you,' she said, watching him out of the corner of her eye. 'Anyway, I'll tell you what I've got at the moment: there is this rumour that the Penguin is planning another attack on the Joker's part of the city, well actually that isn't really a rumour, everyone knows that the Penguin plans to take over the Joker's territory one day. This is more about that he is planning to blow up the bridge, the current problem is that he doesn't know how to sneak any explosives anywhere near the industrial district. There are the usual food drop recoveries tonight, but there is going to be an attempt to take over one of Two-Face's depot points in the next few days, which I guess is sort of a big thing. That's all I have for now,' she babbled, then looked at her feet. 'How often do you want me to report this sort of stuff?'

'You're frightened,' he rumbled, a little annoyed, so much for her fearlessness of him earlier.

'It's not something I can help,' she whined. 'Maybe if I could trust you more...'

'And how would you trust me more?'

Tony didn't say anything for a moment, looking up at him, surprised at the genuine question. Then she wrung her hands, and looked at the floor again. 'Perhaps, erm, if I knew you a little better.'

'What's there to know? You know who I am. The media will have filled you in,' he knew she knew, his mug had been all over the news at one point.

'I know a few facts but that is not what I mean. I know nothing of your err...manners, I can't predict how you'll react, and what I can't predict I fear,' she said earnestly. 'I can't make myself trust you, but I can learn to. I can promise you can trust me, but that doesn't mean you do.'

'No,' Croc agreed. 'I don't trust you. And something is off about you…'

'I know I'm not the usual kind of inmate you see around here. Not a mercenary, or from Blackgate,' Tony said, and laughed uncomfortably. 'I'm one of the crazies that the boss keeps going on about, maybe that's what's off.'

'Hmmph, what did they have you in for?' Croc was now sitting down, so that they were closer to the same height.

'...erm, crazyness?' she suggested, she had half turned away from him as if regretting having told him.

He looked at her blankly. Having spent the last several years of his life locked up in an asylum he knew this could mean a lot of things.

'I see things that aren't really there,' she elaborated, looking away in shame, but then she looked up at him earnestly. 'But I've lived this long, I know how to take care of myself.'

He hadn't expected that, he had suspected she was in Arkham City for theft or some minor crime. They had called him insane at Arkham Asylum, that was why they had transferred him there from Blackgate, but he had not been one of those patients that yelled and saw things that weren't there, he had never heard voices inside of his head, he hadn't been that kind of patient. He looked over Tony again, she didn't seem particularly crazy, not anymore than anyone else, was he actually talking to a lunatic? Well that would explain her interest in talking to him in the first place.

Now that he came to think of it, hadn't he overheard her speaking to herself the other day?

When he didn't respond again, Tony sighed and drew her legs up to her chest, and she explained further. 'I got gassed by the Scarecrow during the mass breakout in Arkham Asylum last year. That's all there really is to it.'

'I was there during the breakout, didn't see you. What building were you in?' Croc asked, uncrossing his arm and leaning forward to listen. Then again, he hadn't really seen many people on the night of the breakout the year before, despite the break in security, he had still been confined to the old sewer system. Tony could have been yelling and shouting in the next room and he probably wouldn't have known she was there.

'I was in the Medical Facility, just before the main event, I knocked myself out...I guess I missed the party,' Tony said, doing her best to appear at ease, but it wasn't fooling him.

'You didn't miss much,' Croc replied, he remembered the night somewhat fondly, an occasion no matter how short in an ocean of numbing nothingness, where every day was as boring and terrible as the last. 'The Joker ended up screwing himself over, he started the riot but he also ended it. And the Batman showed up, and beat up on anyone who wasn't already unconscious, not much more happened than that.'

Tony tried to smile, but she was clearly stressed out, she quickly raised a sleeve to wipe at her eyes. 'Yeah,' she replied shakily. 'Not a bad thing I missed it then.'

'You're scared,' he could smell her fear, as far as he knew he hadn't done anything to trigger this reaction.

'I'm not scared,' she replied, there was a little irritation in her voice. 'That night at the asylum, short lived though it was for me, changed everything. And not in a good way.'

'I got gassed by Scarecrow once,' Croc replied, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes a little. 'One of the shittiest experiences I ever had, the stuff he uses makes you see everything you would never want to all at once.' That had been several years ago now, but he remembered the event clearly, his long dead aunt rising up out of the ground larger than life and screaming abuse at him, and the events of the last night of the circus before it had gone up in flames replayed to him a hundred times over.

'When I woke up I tried to a stab a medic,' Tony replied with a wry smile which quickly melted into a frown, then she looked hopefully up at him. 'I heard rumour that you killed the Scarecrow that night. Is it true?'

'Hahahar! I got him all right!' Croc laughed, but then stopped realising this was not actually something he was certain of - that night had passed in a blur, when the caped crusader had shown up nothing else had mattered other than tearing the vigilante into pieces, but of course not even that had worked out for him. 'I think I got the Scarecrow. When the Bat showed up, my priorities changed.'

'Well I hope he's dead, the bastard deserved it,' she growled, crossing her arms angrily, there was real bitterness in her voice. Then she looked at him again a little less nervously, and smiled softly. 'Thanks for the save back there by the way, I messed up, that stupid idiot Avery has it out for me.'

'It was nothing,' he replied uncomfortably.

'So you said you play cards?' Tony asked after a few seconds to fill in the awkward silence.

She drew out the deck of cards she had found at the warehouse from her pocket. It had been a while since Croc had played any card game, and as he looked at the pack he was dismayed to notice that they looked so much smaller than he remembered, a single card could fit neatly in the palm of his hand, at least they still looked playable. He held out a hand for the cards.

'I'll deal,' he told her.

'Erm, which games are we talking here?' Tony asked as she handed over the deck.

'Crazy 8's?' he suggested awkwardly, but she thankfully didn't appear to pick up on 'crazy' and just nodded.

...

So for the next hour they played crazy 8s. And it wasn't long before either forgot where they were. Tony was no longer frightened, concentrating too much on the game to think of anything else, and in turn Croc did not feel as aggravated, Tony just smelt like Tony and not anger or fear.

Eventually though, Tony had to call it quits.

'I'm rubbish at this,' she complained, having lost yet another round.

'You'll get better with practice,' Croc was actually in quite a good mood now, he felt more relaxed than he had in years. He was thoroughly enjoying the game, he was pleasantly surprised to find that he had lost none of his own skill in the years since he had last played.

'Maybe, or we try a different game next time,' Tony, meanwhile, wasn't completely of the same mindset - he couldn't blame her, her luck had been awful, bad hand after bad hand and on top of that it was quite obvious she wasn't familiar with the game.

'Next time?' he asked, she wanted to do this again? He didn't want her to leave, but he'd be damned if he said that aloud.

'I've got to go, it's probably really late now and I need to check in,' Tony replied, shrugging apologetically. She took a deep breath and looked up at him again after a few moments, rubbing the back of her neck as if embarrassed. 'I think I should mention. If we are to be allies and all, you should probably know that my name isn't Tony.'

'Figured it wasn't your real name, or thought it might be short for Antonia or some'in.' he replied, indifferently, though he was confused when he noticed the expression upon Tony's face was that of shock. 'What?'

'I mean I'm not really surprised, I sort of guessed you knew, but don't go saying stuff like that aloud,' she said worriedly. 'You can't tell anyone, if they knew they would kill me, or worse...'

Silently she set about gathering the cards back into a pack.

'It doesn't matter to me.' he told her, it wasn't something he had even really thought of till now. 'Like I said, I knew all along.'

Tony, or whatever her real name was, pocketed the cards and looked back up at him.

'And you haven't told anyone, that means a lot to me,' she said quietly, she smiled at him sadly. 'I promise to bring better information next time, and I'll bring the cards as well, though I can pretty much guarantee I won't be any better at it.'

* * *

_The next night..._

'They are watching us through cameras,' One-eye said to her presently, tugging on Clara's sleeve.

'They? You mean the TYGER guards?' she asked, looking up from where she was helping to repair the fencing for the fight club's arena. The electricity for the fencing was off but Clara knew better than to not keep her eyes off the switch nearby.

'Them and everyone else in this facility, they all watch, you know?' the man replied very seriously. 'They have cameras everywhere, you just can't see them. Always watching me and following me. They're after me coz of my connections.'

'And are they listening to us now?' Clara asked doubtfully.

'Yes, yes,' One-eye replied, nodding earnestly. 'They are after me, but haven't caught me yet.'

There was the heavy thudding of feet, and Clara tensed as she spotted Croc emerging from the hall below that led to the lowerfloors. He looked at her for a moment, then spotting One-eye, moved on, not stopping once as he ascended the stairs, then disappeared through one of the doors in the direction of the lounge.

'How well can you see?' Clara asked One-eye quietly, forgetting for a moment where she was.

She cried out as she was sharply clipped across the ear.

'I can see just fine, boy!' snarled One-eye, though Clara could see the pupil behind the cataracts of his one remaining eye dart nervously around the room. 'That was old Sickle wasn't it?'

Clara was already moving away though, through the doors, leaving the remaining fencework to One-eye.

'Tony? Ah, come off it, boy, no need to be like that just to spite me,' he called after her. 'Tony! Come back here!'

Clara set off towards the lounge, hoping to catch up with Croc. Like the many things that had happened her over the past year, Clara would never had ever pictured herself playing card games in an old storage room with a mass murderer from Arkham Asylum, but somehow this thought at the time hadn't meant anything to her other than by some strange logic that she was in less danger than she had been for some time now, and she wouldn't have minded repeating the experience.

She wasn't certain what she was going to say to him, she didn't really have any new information regarding plans or upcoming missions, but she hoped maybe just maybe he wouldn't mind.

The lounge was also not normally a place she would go, she knew Enrique and his pals sometimes hung out there but she hadn't been able to muster up the courage to ask if she could accompany them, thinking that she would be laughed at.

Many men sat around tables, talking amongst themselves and drinking. But Croc was not amongst them, though she searched thoroughly just to check, and found that not even Enrique or Elvis were there. To her alarm she did spot loud-mouthed Frankie with purple bruises across his face and an obviously broken nose, talking to Avery who fortunately had his back turned her direction. She made to get out of there quickly before he spotted her. However she found her route back was blocked, a patrol had just gotten back and were now just absent-mindedly standing around talking amongst themselves. She spied the exit onto the streets and began to make for it, hoping to skirt around the side of the outside building and make it back in from the other side.

'Hey pretty boy, come here!' someone shouted.

Clara quickly made her way up an alcove and out of sight, then quickly continued on her way to the exit, going through the back door and past the two guards who took no notice of her, their main duty being to keep people out rather than in. She strode out into the chilly night, and immediately made her way to go around the building, only it was then that she noticed some three from the lounge had followed her outside.

'Hey Tony, wait up!' one of them shouted.

Clara's heart sank when she realised it was Avery, she turned and hurried on her way, ignoring them.

'Hey, I'm talking to you, you street-rat!

Clara decided to lose them, slipping into one of the sidestreets away from the main road. But they followed, and before she knew it she was lost and they were still chasing her.

At a dead end she stopped and turned to face them, ready either to try to dart past them or fight with every fibre in her body no matter how hopeless such a fight would be.

'We just want to have word with you, nothing more,' one said, sneering.

But whether this was the truth, however unlikely, wasn't revealed for at that moment seven men in masks leapt upon them. Clara felt a sharp jab in her arm, and the next thing she knew was that her vision was darkening and she really couldn't care less that she was now lying on the icy cold pavement. As her vision swam, she noticed that her three pursuers appeared to be fighting with giant rabbits until they too succumbed and collapsed nearby. Believing that it was all probably a trick of the mind or insanity, perhaps both, Clara slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

**A/N: **I rewrote this chapter (more or less) about three times! :( I just didn't like the earlier versions, perhaps this could have gone better, I don't know, but this was the closest I could get to what I wanted. This chapter is supposed to be a major turning point in the story, Clara doesn't necessarily trust Croc (nor he trust her) but she is now going out of her way to be around him. For now this is for mostly selfish reasons, she sees Croc as a resource (protection) and knows that in order to keep on his good side she must try to be friends with him. Croc meanwhile (probably a bit OOC, sorry) after many years of being isolated (I can't imagine he had much social contact in the asylum), is more on the end of just liking the fact that he has someone to talk to who won't insult him at the first chance they get, or that he feels is insulting him (e.g. the psychologists at Arkham), though he certainly doesn't trust Clara yet.

Writing Croc's POV was a real pain this chapter, I've probably screwed up his dialogue and made him seem OOC.

_Also constructive critisism:_ If you can see anywhere in this story where there is an inconsistency such as Clara sitting on the floor one moment to being held in the air by Croc and then back again without explanation, be sure to point it out. When I do re-writes, I tend to work over my old drafts by cutting out and adding new bits rather than writing it all again, so what may have happened here is that two drafts are combined into one and that is where the inconsistency comes from (e.g. perhaps Clara was being carried in the old draft but was sitting in the new, but if I don't notice this then the blend could be a mix of wtf, magic and embarrassment :P), hopefully I didn't miss anything.

_Anyway, things relevant to this chapter:_

_Fun fact 1:_ "lilly-livered" = cowardly (the Penguin exclaims this at the beginning of the chapter, I think this is exclusively a British term, but I might be wrong).

_Fun fact 2:_ I don't know many card games, like at all, so I looked up the names. I heard that Crazy 8s was generally a children's game but I might be wrong.

_Fun fact 3: _because it's not all that important to the main story, I might as well point out that in the last chapter there was the tiniest of hints that Loud-mouth Frankie is double-crossing the Penguin, I'm not sure it was that apparent though. Frankie originally was going to be a much bigger villain in this story, but I've since realised he isn't all that important and decided to cut this role out. He's still a hazard, but that's as far as it goes.

_Thanks for the kind reviews, meh luvs :D_

**Quick summary of this chapter:**

The gang have just defended a resource dropsite from the Joker's gang who had tried to take control of the waypoint. Clara is snooping around after the mission, looking for anything on the bodies she could take with her, however she is spotted by Avery who takes the chance to pick a fight. Croc steps in before Clara can be hurt.

She later goes looking for Croc to report back what she had learnt. They end up talking and even playing a game of cards.

The next night Clara is busy helping One-eye fix the arena fencing, she sees Croc passing and makes to follow after him - wanting to be away from One-eye and have someone to talk to. However she finds she has followed the wrong route, directly into the Iceberg Lounge, and Croc isn't there, but Avery is.

Fleeing into the streets out of sheer panic, Clara and her pursuers are ambushed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**Recall**

Was it wrong that he felt sickened at himself for liking human company?

What made now any different than any other time in his life? Was it the setting? The forced proximity? Had something changed? No, nothing had changed, humanity still laughed at him, they still feared and hated him, and he hated them too - he did not want their company. But little Tony...that wasn't even her name though, was it? Was it any different that he wanted her company? Part of him simply never wanted to see her again so as to stop feeling so torn and confused about the situation, part of him wanted to talk to her again. It had been so long since he had wanted to be around anyone.

It was too risky for him to let himself feel close to anyone, he knew if he kept his distance then at least he would be able to shrug off her inevitable future betrayal like it meant nothing to him. Yes, that seemed like the best thing to do.

He wouldn't go looking for her again, he told himself.

But then he stumbled across her anyway on his way to the mess hall. She was working on fixing the fencing around the arena, but she wasn't alone so he didn't bother stopping. Admittedly though he did linger outside the mess hall - despite the nervous looks he got from several passers-by - half hoping that she was going to follow after him. Only of course she hadn't.

That had been an hour ago, now he was waiting in the main entrance hall. It was nearly time to leave for the nightly collection of supplies from the supply drops, he was most regularly involved in this one as this particular drop site lay close to the edge of Two-Face's territory and the gang had been known to take the loot for themselves when the possibility arose. He also knew that Tony was often on this particular mission, normally sent well ahead the rest of them to make sure that no one was lying in wait for them. He wasn't really certain how to feel about her risky job now, the idea that he might one night stumble across her cold dead body in the street made him feel uneasy.

Nearby, leaning against the glass of his cabinet prison, Victor Zsasz sneered at him. This expression quickly faded when Croc walked over and thumped the glass. The pane of glass shook, but didn't splinter despite the distinct cracking sound that accompanied his move, it was still enough to frighten Zsasz into retreating to the back of the cabinet.

He normally did not turn up quite as early, and he had already gotten more than a few questioning uncomfortable looks, though no one dared actually question his presence. It wasn't because he was waiting for her (oh no, looking up every five seconds to see if she had arrived yet was perfectly _normal_)_,_ or so he tried to convince himself.

But she never showed up.

It wasn't that she was simply late either, as time passed and the others arrived it quickly became apparent that she wasn't the only one missing. Quickly it circulated that these were not the first men to go missing either, and then the Penguin himself turned up and called several of them aside for a new plan.

'I suspect it's that bloody Jervis Tetch git. The freakin' Mad Hatter,' he told them, crushing the end of a cigar beneath his shoe. 'I thought he was around, didn't think the twit was stupid enough to mess with me. The Hatter's never done this before, so I guess it's up to you lot to make sure he never does it again! Croc, the boys will need a tracker, you know what to do.'

* * *

Where was she?

Clara's head felt ridiculously heavy, it was an immense job just to look up. She appeared to be sitting at a table and opposite to her was a white rabbit. Realising this was impossible she closed her eyes again before looking again.

The white rabbit was still there, sitting as still as a statue.

She blinked trying to make sense of this, and then her eyes fell upon the black and white symbol of the rabbit's shoulder that indicated its loyalty lay with the Penguin, and she realised it was a man in a mask. This man was completely silent but she could she could hear someone cheerfully humming nearby. She slowly turned her head and looked up the long table she was sitting, and saw that neatly seated on both sides of the table alongside her were more men in masks, some belonged to the Penguin, others were clearly from Two-Faces gang judging by their clothing, while some were wearing no allegiance badges at all.

And all of them, except one, were wearing the same eerie white masks, and sat in the same stony silence.

The lone individual who hadn't yet been masked she recognised as being one of the group that had chased her, his upper half of his body was slumped over the table as if he had had too much to drink, but he was moving, struggling weakly against the bonds that tied him to the chair. He wasn't the one humming though, crouched upon the table was a short slim figure in an oversized top hat, in his hands was one of the rabbit masks.

The bound man didn't stop struggling until the mask was over his face, and then he stopped moving at all. And Clara couldn't help but begin to wonder if perhaps everyone at the table was dead for how unnaturally still they remained. Did the masks kill them?

White rabbits, top hats? Wait a second, this all sounded very familiar. Alice in Wonderland...it was the Mad Hatter. That psychopath who kidnapped and eventually killed his victims!

Fear getting the better of her, Clara tried to stand up, not realising that like the others who had been chasing her, she was also tied down. The jolting motion of her movement rocked the chair, and its legs clattered loudly against the hard ground.

The Hatter stopped humming.

She didn't dare look to see if he had heard, but she didn't need to, a few moments later he stood on the table directly in front of her, somehow avoiding knocking over any of the delicate porcelain mugs and teapots upon its surface.

'This little rabbit didn't drink enough tea. Oh, forgive my poor manners, dear me,' he said crouching down so that he could peer more closely at her, he then scowled and deftly pulled off her beanie. 'Oh now I don't like that, it _is_ poor manners to not take off your hat.'

Fully ignoring the irony of this statement, he brought forth another mask and began to bring it closer to her face.

Clara wanted to struggle, but though she found she had some motor control, it wasn't much. She leant back as far as she could, but she knew it wasn't enough, her eyes darted everywhere in search of escape, struggling with the bindings around her wrists.

'My, my, as fidgety as a march hare aren't we?' the Hatter said, then paused and smiled at his own suggestion. 'A march hare? Ah, yes, _March Hare_, so glad you could make it. It would be rude of me to give you one of these, wouldn't it old friend?' he said gesturing at the white mask he held. 'I suppose I should get you something more fitting, March Hare, it would be only fair.'

'I am not a rabbit,' she said, almost drunkenly, she found that her words came unprompted, she was not in control of them.

'No, indeed not, my old friend.'

'I am Clara,' she said abruptly, and struggled anew, her head spinning. 'I shouldn't be here.'

'Clara...?' The Hatter sat back on his folded legs, wild mind a whir, then he smiled widely, eyes dancing with happiness. 'Alice? Alice is that really you?'

Unwelcome fingers reached towards her face. Though her processing was slow, Clara's mind danced between multiple disconnected subjects at once, and she realised she was probably having a panic attack.

The odds were not adding up, a thousand images danced in her mind's eye; both from memory of reality and fiction she had read. And in her desperation to process them, one very strong image became melded with that of the current situation, and before she could even think about it, Clara was laughing.

Sweet innocent Alice, lost in a strange world, on a journey without a goal; oh how she wished she could be _that_ character.

'I'm not Alice!' she laughed at the Hatter, and in her mind's eye she saw the night when she had been at the asylum, waiting for Dereck to turn up so she could drive home. He had been late, and was unapologetic, and she had been so...nasty to him...

* * *

_'Clara, you were supposed to be waiting **outside** in the **carpark**!'_

_'I had no idea how long you would be, why would I want to wait outside in the cold?' she grumbled, frowning at him through bleary eyes; it was already past midnight, she didn't want to be here right now anymore than he did._

_'It's the middle of **summer**-' Dereck stopped mid-rant and looked around uneasily at their surroundings, his face tinged red as he realised he had an audience, there were other people in the staff room. 'Good evening, Dr. Stone,' he addressed one of the senior doctors, who sat filing paperwork in one corner of the room, discretely trying to appear uninterested in the situation._

_Dereck turned his attention back to her._

_'Sorry, I've been up since 5AM this morning. Look, forget I said anything. Let's just get out of here. Where's that other intern Theo?'_

_'He went to go find some coffee.'_

_'What? But there's a coffee machine right here,' Dereck replied, jabbing one hand in the direction of said machine. Clara raised one eyebrow, the machine appeared to be smoking at the wall._

_'It's broken,' said one of the staff in passing, almost mournfully._

_'Theo said that he was going to fall asleep if he had to wait any longer. He only left a few minutes ago, he should be back soon,' Clara added indifferently._

_Dereck, looked to Clara, his expression indicating that he might have a break down if things got any more ridiculous. 'Just text Theo and tell him to get back here immediately, Clara, I've got a client at a hearing tomorrow morning, I'll be lucky if I get four hours sleep tonight!'_

_'Hey, I don't want to stay here any later either. If your car hadn't broken down I would have gone home hours ago,' she replied, taking out her phone to call Theo. 'As a student intern, I'm not supposed to be here past dark, it's not safe or something.'_

_Dereck didn't reply, he simply sat down at one of the tables and placed his face in one hand._

_Clara turned away from him and lifted her phone to her ear, listening to it as it rung. Her eyes drifted back to the damaged coffee machine. The air above the coffee machine was shimmering, like a road on a hot summer's day, it didn't look quite like smoke. Clara scowled as the ringing stopped and switched to voice mail, she hung up and wondered what on earth her classmate was doing that was taking so long._

_'Is that thing on fire?' she asked Dereck, pointing to the coffee machine. _

_'It's probably just steam,' he chastised her. 'Now, either Theo appears in the next five minutes or I'm **paying** you to leave him behind.'_

_'No, just listen,' she added hurriedly. 'There is sound, like a sort of hissing.'_

_One of the doctors beside the machine had noticed the odd shimmering too and had decided to take matters into his own hands, and was now in the process of unplugging the machine from the wall._

_'Hey, what are you doing?' complained another._

_'Something's wrong with the ventilation system,' complained the other, now crouched upon the ground. 'I can hear the hissing of gas, and this vent cover isn't fixed to the wall.'_

_'We'll report it to management later, they'll probably fix it in a decade or two,' joked the one of the doctors._

_'I think there is something in there, like a canister. Hold on a moment,' the doctor reached into the airvent, but then abruptly shuddered and withdrew his hand, stumbling back so fast from the vent that he fell over backwards._

_'What is wrong?' asked the other, the attention of the rest of the room now drawn to the scene. The doctor who had attempted to clear the vent was now swiping frantically at his arms as if trying to beat off dirt except there didn't appear to be anything on his arms._

_'Maggots! There are maggots everywhere!' yelled the doctor on the floor._

_'Calm down, Carl, there aren't any maggots here-' abruptly the other stopped midsentence and was now looking down with horror at his own bare hands. 'My skin, my skin!' he shouted before stumbling backwards and tripping over a chair, all the while yelling._

_'What's wrong with him?' someone yelled, the other doctors quickly crowded around the thrashing men, but it was only when Dr. Stone shoved the others out of the way and got a good look at them that panic really broke out. One of the fear stricken men upon the floor tried to lunge at Dr. Stone but missed and fell._

_Dr. Stone took one look at the men, squinting through his rimmed glasses, and staggered back._

_'He's been gassed. We're all being gassed! Everyone, get out of the room and lock the doors behind you, we have to isolate this area as quickly as possible!' he commanded._

_Clara only distantly heard these words though, her main concern was on how the staff room suddenly seems twenty times as big and how the roof seemed to have opened up above her so that cold howling wind filled the room and battered at her eyes and ears. Beside her she saw Dr. Stone as a crumpled creature, covered in loose skin and rocking on his heels, she staggered away from him as she tried to understand what was going on._

_Suddenly something big and heavy with hands of iron gripped her arm and yanked her forwards. Clara did not recognise what this thing was, its face was warped and twisted with long sharp teeth. Eyeless, it let out a pitiful gurgle that horrified her to no end. She fought back, twisting and tugging until she managed to free herself from its grasp._

_But from where it had gripped her, her skin itched and when she touched it peeled away. Her fingernails came away in her hand._

_She felt as if she was going to be sick, too scared and confused to scream, she grit her teeth but felt them crumbling in her mouth like chalk._

_Her vision was strained, every colour too bright yet solid shapes were undefinable and warped before her eyes, and all she wanted to do was run. The office was decaying around her, the metal rusting brown and the glass going opaque, she could hear screaming and yelling nearby, and when she looked up all around her were angry faces. Furious faces with bared teeth and narrowed eyes, they reached to grab at her, to tear her withering skin from her decaying flesh. One raised a sickle, she managed to avoid the worse of the blow but it caught her across the left cheek. She screamed and yelled, and kicked._

_The wraith fell and from its hand fell the sickle. Clara swiped the weapon as one of the other wraiths made to grab her. Another wraith came at her, catching one of her wrists in its crushing grip, trying to pull her down._

_Terrified, she could hear nothing but the ringing and pounding of the blood in her own head, Clara brought the sickle down into the wraith's neck. But it wouldn't let go. The skin on her hands and arms shrivelled and fell away, but her determination to fight and flee, to fight to flee, did not. She swung again and again at the monster's neck until the grinning corpse by her feet stopped moving, its head lying on the other side of the room._

_But still there was no relief, her fear did not fade with her foe defeated, and all the while she could feel herself falling apart, she could see the bones in her hands now, she could see her beating heart behind her ribs. And there were still enemies everywhere, who wanted to speed up the process, who wanted to pull her apart and leave her scattered across the floor._

_Another lunged at her, she swiped at them but too fast, the sickle went flying and disappeared somewhere into the blurry room, only it was no longer a room but a mix of bright colours, orange, grey and red, she could barely make out shapes, but they were outside, she was sure of that._

_She ran after the weapon, her only defense, picking it up just as another grinning corpse lunged at her, she escaped their grip but was hit full on by their charge and thrown across the room. When she staggered to her feet she tried to take a step back only to realise there was nothing to step on. Behind her was a cliff face, there was nothing below but the blackness of an endless cavern. And then she was falling, hitting rocks on her way down, she felt something crack in one arm. Nothing but blackness was above her and she was still falling. But like her vision, her thoughts then blurred beyond use and she thought no more._

_..._

_It was not something she immediately remembered when she later woke up two days after the event in a hospital bed, but she had awoken again in transition._

_At the time fear had still ran rampant through her veins. She lay at the bottom of a staircase, upon a hard metal surface, one of the metal walkways in the asylum. Her left arm in agony and one side of her face stinging like crazy._

_The sickle - only sometimes it looked like a fire-axe to her warping vision - was still in her hand. The world occasionally morphing from one form to another. There were people all around her now, doctors, medics, security personnel; two were trying to help her up._

_But Clara had never been more terrified in her life. She snarled and screamed at the first one who tried to get her to stand. His face morphing from that of a leech to a pig and then back again, startled by this newest hallucination she struck out with her weapon without thinking, and caught him across the arm._

_They had then pinned her, forcefully removing her weapon from her shaking hands so that she couldn't hurt anyone else. But as they set about sedating her, Clara remembered where she was and knew Dereck had to be nearby. She looked up the staircase to where she knew the staff room was, and there at the top of the stairs lay Dereck, half sprawled, legs out of sight but visible from the chest up, and he was-_

* * *

'Now, let's not play games Alice,' said the Mad Hatter. 'I've got a lovely blue dress for you somewhere around here, no need for malice.'

'I'm not Alice!' Clara laughed again, and she remembered the night at the asylum ten times more as she spoke her mind without control. 'I'm the queen! The queen of Hearts, the red queen! Off with his head! Yes, right off with his head! He had no head, it was off because of me!'

Part of her mind was screaming, but Clara was too delirious with fear and confusion to care. All she could think of was all the bad memories that she had tried to block out. Dereck was dead...in her own terror and delusion she had killed him. He had been dead for more than a year now, but like some Frankenstein experiment she had forced him to continue living within her own mind, denying anything had happened. He lived on in a story, while she did not. It was like she had been sleeping all this time, and she had only just woken up, the horror brought back afresh.

'The q-queen?!' stuttered the Hatter, and went a funny green colour, for a moment it looked as if he was going to be sick. 'Your majesty?...' he trailed off again.

Clara fixed him with an empty stare, for her mind was elsewhere, but like a puppet she animated her memories of the story and scowled.

'Of course it's me, you imbecile!' she yelled. 'How do you not recognise your own sovereign? Don't grovel now, you are late enough as it is. You are a suspect in the case of the stolen jam tarts, but we need a court, where are the others?'

'I didn't steal them, I swear!' he suddenly cried out, so loudly and unexpectedly that Clara would have jumped out of her seat if she had not been tied down and dosed with who knows what. 'Why would you follow me? I haven't _done_ anything _wrong_!'

'I'm not following you. As a queen, I follow no one. I have my loyal subjects to follow you for me,' Clara stated, raising her nose into the air.

The Hatter immediately glanced suspiciously at the gathered group of the men in masks, though he said nothing, Clara knew what he was thinking and decided to play on his paranoia. This was all obviously a delusion of his, a fantasy, these people were only real characters as he perceived them to be.

'And if I deem you acts suspicious, I would think very much that I would send out my subjects to check on you,' she said. 'I haven't played croquet in a while now, the flamingos all flew away, you see? I used to play croquet with Alice, who I also haven't seen in some time. You wouldn't be hiding her, would you?'

'Who's Alice? Hah, I've never heard of her,' replied the Hatter, trying to pick up a mug of tea but ended up just spilling it down his front. He fidgeted and tried to clean himself with a piece of cloth. 'Oh dear, right on my best suit, Alice won't be pleased.'

'Alice?' she asked.

'Where?!' he yelled shrilly, looking around the room.

'Where indeed?' but Clara had chosen the wrong words this time, for the Hatter's eyes now fell on her with suspicion.

'You have her, don't you?!' he asked, shaking so violently that his hat fell off, he grabbed it quickly before it hit the floor - behind him the men in masks jolted violently before freezing back into place. 'Give her back!'

'How dare you! Off with your head!' she shouted back, not quite realising the danger of the game she was playing.

'But the executioner isn't here,' replied the Hatter in a sing-song voice. 'And if I get rid of you, Alice and me will be free forever! No more running and hiding from your forces, it will be _teatime_ all the _time_!'

But just then there was a great crash, and the sounds of several voices, the Hatter looked up, nervous. Clara had no idea what was making the noise, but once more seized the opportunity.

'But my subjects are already here,' she said to him savagely. 'And they will see you to death!'

'Oh no, my tea party, it's ruined! Run my rabbits! Run!' he shouted to the seated masked men. 'Find Wonderland and escapes the queen's tyranny! Escape through the door within a door within a door! Out and up! Out and away!'

The Hatter was off, followed closely by the men he had already masked. Three of Penguin's men who he had masked but not untied, struggled futily in their chairs to do the same, each in turn knocked their own chairs over.

Just then the intruders broke down the door, or rather Killer Croc came bursting into the room, the door crumbling like cardboard as he barrelled through it. She felt she could almost cry in relief.

He looked around wildly, arms raised to fight, but then his gaze fell upon her, tied up at the table, and he hurried over, the wooden floor creaking as he stepped upon it. From the angle she was at, he seemed to take up the whole room and for a moment she was terrified he was going to carelessly crush her by accident. She didn't know what he was up to, so naturally she was scared.

Clara suddenly found herself leaving the ground, Croc having picked the chair she was strapped to up into the air. For a moment saw the pale scales of his underbelly then there was a series of sharp cracks behind her, involuntarily she yelped thinking that the sound was her bones breaking. But then she was dropped on top of the table and Killer Croc was hurriedly leaving the room, and she realised that the chair she was sitting on was what had been broken. The rope not having anything to be wrapped around any longer, came loose and she pulled her hands free.

Just then the rest of the Penguin's gang poured into the building, some pointed their weapons at her, but they lowered them once they realised who she was and paid her no further attention, looking around instead for the Hatter or anything else they might shoot.

Immediately she tossed aside the character of the queen of hearts, and she switched to Tony.

''Bout time you got here, the teas all cold, what kept you?' she snarked at them as they dispersed around the room, weapons at the ready.

'Watch your lip, street-rat,' said one, going over to pull off the masks of the still struggling prisoners. Clara fixed her gaze on his back, feverishly wishing she could kick him from where she was, her nerves weren't really any better and feeling mildly insane wasn't helping.

'This floor is clear!' shouted back one of those that had poked his head into the back room. 'Moving to the second floor now.'

'What time is teatime?' she found herself asking to without meaning to. 'Is it when the tea is on the table or is it just a time of day?'

'What the hell are you talking about?' shouted the man nearest to her.

'Why, this!' she promptly kicked the nearest porcelain teapot over, it hit the floor and smashed into a thousand pieces, Clara laughed hysterically.

It wasn't easy for many of them to hear her over the shouting and thundering of feet as they searched the building, but those nearest to her looked in her direction uncomfortably, almost scared, and this thought made Clara laugh all the louder.

'Your face is very shiny,' she commented, grinning as the nearest one tried who tried to frighten her into shutting up by snarling at her - she felt no fear, just a giddy delirium, and this didn't surprise her because she couldn't feel surprise either.

Needless to say, they didn't share her sense of humour. The guy nearest to her promptly leant forwards and shoved her off the table so that she fell to the ground below, still giggling. She was ignored, nearly trampled on twice as people passed, and eventually she crawled underneath the table, out of the way and out of sight.

Her delusional hysteria was slowly fading though, her high on adrenaline could only last so long, and quickly her laughing became quieter, and soon she stopped laughing altogether. Utter despair filled her.

No one even noticed her absence, she lay forgotten on the stone cold floor.

* * *

When it quickly became clear that the Hatter and his henchmen were long gone, attention immediately turned to ransacking the building for anything of value. Croc's attention returned to Tony, he was surprised he hadn't seen her, half convinced that she would have followed after him once she was freed.

He himself searched through the building for a little while, but there was really nothing worth taking, there was a one room full of chemicals, tools and blueprints which he had no use for, the rest of the place was just old books, broken clocks and some raggedy moth eaten clothing that looked like museum pieces that had been left out to rot. There was kitchen area, though this had been practically emptied by the time he had gotten there. Tony should have been in the thick of it, scavenging was her game, but she was no where in sight.

He couldn't let himself appear too concerned, he knew any weakness shown was something the others would jump on without hesitation. He wasn't going to ask any of them if they had seen her, so he would have to find her himself. So he waited, watching from a distance. What had happened to her? Had the others hurt her while he was elsewhere? She had appeared fine, albeit scared, when he had broken her free of the chair, but he hadn't stuck around long enough to see if she was alright - he had been too worried about the others coming up behind him - he had thought she would stick close to him after the incident.

Perhaps she was scared of taking anything in front of the others in case they took it from her, or maybe she was just being very stealthy and somehow avoiding everyone's (even his) attention - very unlikely. The most likely scenario was that as soon as she gotten free she had left, perhaps deciding that it wasn't worth the risk of sticking around, and certainly not for one moment regarding him.

After about half an hour, and every cupboard and draw in the building had been turned out and emptied, it was time to leave, he finally returned to the room with the long table where Tony had been previously.

But she wasn't there either.

Those that had been victims of the Hatter were still not completely over their sedation, now that they were leaving these people were being helped to slowly stumble their way back.

It quickly became clear that Tony had definitely left, she was simply no where in sight and her scent was already weakening, she hadn't been in this room for at least a quarter of an hour or longer. He followed the others out into the streets as they set about getting back, shuddering as the cold of winter hit him, the icy wind whistling down through the streets. He could smell that she had already gone this way, but then inexplicably, only a little further on, she had veered off from the direction the rest of them were heading.

Silently he changed paths as well, following after her, no one commenting on him leaving but they all watched him as he left.

Had she ran off deliberately? Would he need to catch her and bring her back or should he just let her go? He didn't owe her anything and she wasn't really tied to him in any way either - the deal they had was transient, and only would last as long as it benefited them both, she had held up her end of the deal while he had done the same, there was no reason why now she couldn't simply cut it off there and leave.

He snarled in frustration and continued his search for her. If she was going to dare to make him feel concerned then she owed it to him that she stuck around. Out here she would die anyway, he remembered how skeletal she had appeared the first time he had seen her. At the time he had almost thought she wasn't worth the effort, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and back then he wasn't finding food very easily either. If she stayed out here she would starve, or die from the cold anyway.

If it had been an attempt to escape, it had been a poor one.

He found her only a few minutes later, she hadn't gone far. Hiding behind a dumpster, she was curled into a ball against the wall. She looked almost dead, pale and staring blankly at the wall, teeth chattering from the cold. She didn't even notice him until he stood directly in front of her.

She raised her blank gaze to him when she realised she was no longer alone, then wordlessly she got to her feet.

'What are you up to?' he questioned her suspiciously. It didn't look like she was running away, if anything it just looked like she had given up.

'I lost my way,' she replied emotionlessly, the blank expression on her face unchanging. She didn't say anything further, she just stood there.

He gestured for her to follow and began to lead the way back. This time she did follow him, but with how quiet she was he almost would not have noticed if she hadn't.

...

'Parasites, the lot of them,' the Penguin was saying, after taking a draught of wine. 'You have to pull them up by the roots if you want to get rid off them permanently, by which I mean wring their necks right proper! The Hatter is just going to settle elsewhere now, but at least he ain't our problem no more. Who knows, hehe, maybe he'll decide the Joker's bimbo would make a nice Alice, hahaha!'

The Penguin was pleased, very pleased, and perhaps slightly drunk. It was easy enough to slip away from the front of the throng of people without him noticing, even when the one leaving was someone who towered over the lot of them by several feet. Croc had seen Tony trying to slip away and followed after her, he wasn't the only one though.

An older man with greying hair got to her first, and promptly began shouting at her. Tony didn't appear particularly bothered, but then again at this moment she seemed indifferent to everything. But then the man grabbed the front of Tony's jacket in one fist and appeared as if he might strike her.

Croc growled and stepped forward, taking hold of Tony, lifting her easily and yanking her from the man's grip. Then he turned and began to head away from the main room with her held under one arm, it can't have been very comfortable for her but to carry her any other way would have looked suspicious and he didn't want to risk that. As far as the world was concerned, Tony was just another lost soul who had the misfortune of having been around Killer Croc more than once - as far as the world was concerned, Tony and Croc were not working together.

Then to his surprise the old man began to follow after them.

'Oi, what are you doing?!' he shouted, chasing after them. 'You let go of my son now! He's part of this gang as much as the rest of us! You can't just go around eating us!'

Croc whirled around to glare at him, he didn't answer in words, he simply bunched up the muscles in his shoulders and growled, but then he took in what the man had said. 'Your son?' Croc looked at Clara dubiously.

She didn't answer, but he now remembered her saying something along the lines of someone believing they were related to her.

'Follow me, and I'll tear you to shreds!' he growled at the old man, who actually seemed to be sizing him up for a fight. Normally he would have taken such an action as an insult and torn the man to shreds anyway, but Tony was shivering in his grip and he wasn't about to drop her just to kill an old man.

Even with this threat in the air though, the man barely reacted - backing up a few steps but hardly fleeing for his life, glaring intently. He was missing one eye, and Croc suspected he couldn't see very well out the remaining one either. Either that or the man was completely insane. Croc didn't care, there was only so much he would put up with, if the man did try to follow them again he doubted he would be able to control himself.

He stormed away, Tony still under one arm, but she was beginning to move now, grabbing at his a wristguard and struggling.

'Please, I can't breathe!' she choked, and it was only then that he realised he was inadvertently crushing her. Seeing no one else around, he readjusted his grip, throwing her up into the air before catching her in the crook of his arm so that she rested against his chest, then continued on his way. He should have really just dropped and left her, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

There was no way he was going to simply leave her lying around after finding her in the state he had, she'd be easy prey for anyone.

So he took her to the only place he knew was safe, the storage room that they had given him to sleep in.

He placed her on top of pile of sand bags so that she could sit. But she didn't sit, she fell back bonelessly against the material as if she had no life in her. It was only now, that when they were alone, that she spoke again. As he moved to stand up after placing her down, one delicate little hand grabbed at his wristguard again and held on tight.

'Don't go,' she begged in a broken voice, her eyes still had a distant look to them, but she was definitely looking at him. 'You're alive, you're alive, don't fade.'

'Yeah, I am alive,' he confirmed gruffly, but she didn't respond any further, just looking up at him with a wavering gaze as if not quite believing he was there. He realised with a pang that she trusted him, and she wanted him around, he argued weakly with himself that he wasn't going to let himself fall for it but found he didn't have the strength. Whether it was selfish trust or not, he would take it.

He settled beside her make-shift bed, getting to his knees that they were almost level.

'What's the matter?' he asked awkwardly, he didn't want to frighten her.

She squeezed her eyes shut and turned away from him. 'Stupid mind, stupid memories, stupid Hatter, stupid me! But my fault, all my fault...' she muttered, and then turned her pale face back to him. 'Please don't leave, if I'm alone, everything will come back, in my head anyway, stupid, silly me.'

Tony was definitely more lucid now but she didn't seem quite right in the head. He didn't know what was she babbling about, but he could tell she was scared, but it was not of him.

'The Hatter is gone,' he told her.

'I don't care less about the stupid Hatter,' she replied quietly. 'I-...it doesn't matter. I'm being weak, and that's stupid. But I feel so close to just giving up. Damn this place!'

She sat up, and took a deep breath.

'I'm sorry...cards, want to play crazy fates again?' she frantically scrambled to draw out the cards, she gave him a sad little smile.

'It's crazy _eights_,' he told her. 'Sure.'

Perhaps it wasn't really the best solution to the situation, but Croc knew little in the way of comforting. Tony played terribly once more, but as time passed she slowly began to calm again, and pretty soon she was beginning to fall asleep.

'I want to stay here, can I stay here?' she asked sleepily, sometime later. 'I won't be any trouble, when I wake up tomorrow, I'll make sure not to wake you.'

Yep, she was definitely crazy, but he found he really didn't care. He liked that she didn't seem to mind that he was supposed to be crazy too.

'You can stay,' he told her. 'I don't mind.'

'That's good,' she said quietly, and closed her eyes. 'That's good...'

He watched the gentle risings of her sides until her breathing slowed and she fell asleep, before he settled down himself, leaning back against the pile of sandbags.

Perhaps it was strange that he thought this was the weirdest thing to have ever happened to him, for someone to be so tranquil around him after so many years, but then again his whole life had hardly been normal.

* * *

**A/N**: I'm going away soon for two or three weeks to my grandparents' who have no access to the internet because they live right in the middle of nowhere :( so I won't be posting for a while - though I'm going to try to post one more chapter before I go there.

The flashback is actually a large chunk of the original prologue I wrote for this story, but decided to scrap the prologue because it made more sense for the story to start within Arkham City rather than meander around for the first chapter before it. I'm a little worried it was too gruesome for a T rating, but I wanted to portray it like a true nightmare, I don't really want to change the rating though, I've been so careful to keep swearing mild.

Also, longest chapter ever 0_0

Response to reviews:

_Sunnycroc_: Thank you for you lovely review:D, on the matter of card games the only card game I really know is snap, but I know that if they played that well...snap would go Clara's fingers DX (ouch! erm, if you know how snap is played, from my experience the game often turns violent lol)

_Blitzwing'ssister_: *facepalms in embarrassment* the name thing...oops, how did I miss that? Erm, you have a very good point. I'm not certain how I'm going to correct this (I guess I'll have to cut out that line), thanks for bringing it to my attention, I'll try to do something about it soon. For now let's just say Clara didn't realise coz lol? Thank you for your review!

_Serendipity's tears _&amp; _TurtleKidTheWoolGatherer_: Thank you :D

**Quick summary of this chapter:**

Clara awakens, still tranquilized from before. She becomes aware she had been kidnapped by the Mad Hatter very quickly, and tries to escape. He notices her struggling though and begins to talk to her, calling her March Hare, and when she inadvertently says her name is Clara, the Hatter decides that she is Alice.

Clara flashes back to the terrible night that resulted in her incarceration at Mercy: She was waiting to give her brother a lift back from Arkham Asylum on the night of the breakout, she was gassed while in the medical facility. While under fear gas' influence, she inadvertently killed her brother before falling down a flight of stairs and knocking herself out.

Back in the present, Clara begins to laugh at the absurdity of being innocent Alice, and declares that she is in fact the Queen of Hearts ("Off with his head!"). This bluff fools the Hatter, however this turns for the worst when he decides that in order to defend Alice he must get rid of Clara. However before he can do this, the Penguin's men arrive.

Killer Croc bursts through the door, scaring off all the enemies present. He frees Clara and then goes in search of the Hatter and his henchmen. Clara has a mental breakdown as a result of the flashback and begins acting weirdly until she eventually grows comatose and crawls under the table. Clara doesn't want to come out from under the table, but is eventually persuaded after the others begin knocking the table about and she crawls out. Still traumatised from the event she tries to set back on her own, only she doesn't know where she is and quickly gets lost. She sits down beside a bin and tries to calm herself down. Eventually Croc finds her, having realised she's set off in the wrong direction. She wordlessly gets to her feet and follows after him, back to the museum. One-eye is there and gets into a bit of an argument with Clara, but Croc steps in and takes her away. Clara begins to speak again by this point, obviously very distressed. She calms down after a few games of crazy eights though, and Croc agrees to let her sleep in the storage room for the night.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**Change**

When she woke up it was to relative warmth of the storage room, and for a moment it was nice. She yawned and stretched, readjusting herself into more comfortable position on her makeshift bed.

The memories of the night before - or had it been the day before? Both seemed to blend so seamlessly here - began to flood back, but this time she was ready for them and simply scowled at her own stupidity, setting her mouth in a grim line. It was all a matter of perception, she reminded herself, nothing new had happened, nothing had changed, and still she had broken down like some useless wimp. Useless wimps died here, and she didn't want to die, right?

She would get out of here one day, she promised herself, even if it was just to escape this life to start another on the run so as not to be forced to return. Did her family ever think about her anymore? It had been so long since she had seen any of them, did they ever wonder where she was or what she was doing? Did they have any idea what it was like in Arkham City?

It was hard not to have self-centered thoughts here, when the cruelty of grim reality generally did not allow for the consideration of others.

She could hear the deep reverberating rhythm of Croc's breathing nearby, the sound was soporific and oddly comforting, it made her want to go back to sleep.

At some point Croc must have turned off the light, because the storage room was only dimly lit by the light filtering in through the doorway from the hall beyond. In the dim lighting she could only see his silhouette, and with his face turned away at the angle it was he appeared almost human. Almost human? Clara pondered this for a moment, then sleepiness crept up on her again and she yawned. Definitely human, fellow human, fellow living being, and she liked that, she didn't want to be alone.

She experimentally stretched one leg, testing her body for aches and pains from yesterday. She had a bit of a headache but whether that was an after effect of the Hatter's tranquilizers she wasn't certain. She had had worse, the incident when she had been clipped by a bullet all those weeks ago had to be one the scariest, though she supposed falling down a flight of stairs on fear inducing hallucinogens and breaking her arm had to take the cake.

Slowly she sat up and looked down at him on the floor, the angle at which she saw him changed and he became noticeably spikier, less human, but it didn't frighten her as it would have done before she came to Arkham city. Appearances meant nothing here, everyone strove to look as fierce and as strong as possible, Croc was just one of many and right now was one of the few she trusted. And oh dear, she did trust him, didn't she?

Was she fooling herself? Half her mind had forgotten who Killer Croc was, the other half didn't care.

* * *

Lying awake and thinking over things was generally something he tried to avoid, because when he did it was hard to stop his thoughts from turning destructive, but this time he had something else other than himself to think over. Tony was still there, he could hear her quiet steady breathing, sleeping and calm as anything. He couldn't see her all that well from the floor, just half an arm that was hanging over the side of the stack of sacks - pale fingers lax and unfurled almost as if in death. And in death was generally the only state that Croc ever saw anyone near him look tranquil.

When the arm was suddenly moved out of sight and he heard the rustling of material as she shifted, he knew she had woken up. Worried that he might be caught staring at her, he quickly feigned sleep, turning his gaze could hear her shifting but it didn't sound as if she was getting up.

He opened his eyes and found her sitting beside him, looking down at him. As soon as he caught her eyes, her gaze darted away, and she mumbled something that sounded like 'morning, Croc.'

'Tony,' he grunted and sat up.

'I wanted to ask you a question,' she said hesitantly. 'About Gotham Bay, if that's okay.'

Croc was surprised. 'What about it?'

'I want to know why no one has escaped from this facility by sea,' she said, gesturing with her hands in the direction of the bay. 'You're a good swimmer, so I thought that you might know.'

'It's probably mined,' Croc replied simply, not thinking twice about it. 'That, and they've got surveillance everywhere.' The "zookeepers" of this place wouldn't have left such a gap in their security, and he for one wasn't going to test it.

'Oh,' Clara, laced her fingers. 'So I guess there really is no way out...'

Croc grunted, and turned his gaze away.

'The Blackmask apparently broke out a few weeks ago,' she continued. 'He got his hands on explosives, and somehow managed to blow a hole in the wall. I've no idea how he didn't get spotted. He err...tricked the Penguin, I've overheard the boss ranting about him more than once.'

'Do you have explosives?' he asked but knew she didn't, the question had reminded him of an unpleasant fact that he was trying to forget; despite how much he hated it here, he had no incentive to leave Arkham City.

'Erm, no, but it's worth considering. If it's worked before, it can work again,' she paused to think. 'The Penguin must keep explosives somewhere, if the Blackmask was able to obtain them off him-'

'You think I want to leave? Where exactly would I go?' he snarled. 'Can you see me walking down Gotham's streets?'

'I'd have to hide too, they'd throw me back in here if they found me,' she was cowering, her eyes wide, but he was too wrapped up in his own irritation right at that moment to feel any regret.

'It's not the same. You **can** hide, I can't!' he glowered. 'Anything you got to add to that?!'

But despite his anger, she didn't flee, she looked defiantly back at him.

'Anywhere is better than here, right? When you have to scrounge to survive-' she tried to argue.

'Where would I go?' he asked again, a deadly threat in his tone, daring her to answer him.

But she didn't answer this time because she already knew the truth: outside of Arkham City there was no place for Croc. And he knew this too.

'Get out.' he growled, and this time she didn't hesitate to flee.

* * *

It was still quite early in the evening, no missions for another hour or so until after sundown. With nothing to do she currently had two options, find someone who she could talk too who wasn't eager to throw her out of the nearest window or she could hide until she was needed. When she didn't need to be around then she would much sooner _not_ be around.

Maybe she _was_ fooling herself, thinking that Croc could ever possibly be a friend. He was simply too dangerous, without even meaning to he could probably kill her - where someone else might just bump into her on passing and apologise for possibly knocking her over, in Croc's case it would be an apology for hurling her across the room and possibly through a wall. She had to be careful around him even when he wasn't in a bad mood, it would be only too easy for her to get accidentally crushed or trampled.

But she realised something. Without even meaning to, she had become attached to the great brute, it was the closest thing she had felt to friendship since she had arrived in Arkham City and she felt greatly distressed at the fact that she had upset him; and this wasn't just her fearing his bad side but more of a fear of losing him, and this surprised her. But it was true, she did _not_ want to lose him.

The Penguin was currently holding yet another speech on how much he hated the Joker, Clara wasn't particularly interested in listening and knew now was good time to slip away and hide while everyone was distracted. One-eye was hovering nearby, but she was deliberately ignoring him. She was just so fed up with the whole situation, she couldn't care less. She wasn't suicidal but was beginning to think that perhaps going to sleep outside in the cold and simply not waking up would be the easiest solution to her problems.

When she spotted One-eye coming over to her, she almost turned on heel and left, but compared to angry Croc he really wasn't that scary, and she waited for him, looking him straight back at him as he approached.

'Tony,' he said simply, standing still with his arms hanging at his sides, then abruptly he hugged her. Almost immediately he let go of her and stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked around to check that no one else had noticed. 'I thought you might be dead. Where were you?'

And with jolt Clara realised that it was not mere insanity that had drawn him over but fatherly concern, and she felt terrible for being the wrong recipient.

'I'm sorry, I-,' she began, but One-eye shook his head.

'No, don't be sorry, Tony,' he chided her looking around again to see if anyone was listening in, then nudged her and said more quietly, smiling at little. 'You can be sorry if you want to, but don't say it out loud, you don't want to look a pushover, eh?' He looked over her hair and seemed to frown. 'This stuff is getting too long, my boy, we need to do something about it. How about a mohawk? Like your old man? You like that idea?'

Clara didn't like that idea at all.

_..._

About half an hour later Clara sat hidden on a small ledge beneath one of the boardwalks by the lake under the lounge, having managed to slip away when One-eye wasn't looking.

Maybe it would have been a good idea to get her hair cut back as it was getting to be a good few inches too long and it was beginning to make her stand out, but she didn't like the idea of letting anyone near her with sharp pointy objects. It made her feel a bit guilty that after One-eye had shown such concern for her welfare that she had simply run away, but she had to remind herself that the concern was not actually meant for her. And in the grand scheme of things she didn't mean anything to him, if the tales were true she could easily be replaced if she was lost; Clara knew that she was not the first 'Tony' he had taken in.

Clara watched the dark waters of the lake, mulling things over in her mind. She really hoped that Croc would forget about earlier, she knew she hadn't said anything to upset him deliberately but she also knew he wasn't really to blame either, Croc obviously had issues and she had known this for as long as she had known of his existence. Hell, she had issues herself, and she was pretty sure everyone else in Arkham City had issues too, a little snap of aggression really was just a drop in the ocean and she knew she shouldn't be worrying about it.

Talking about oceans, where were the sharks?

It had been a long time since she had last been to an aquarium, but she had been hoping to relive that luxury. There were supposed to be sharks in the lake, or so the rumours went - either way, the only people she had seen going into the lake were those who were chucked in dead.

She looked down at the still water and watched, being careful not to lean too far forward, so far she had spotted nothing but dark forms floating just out of sight under the water, she knew without question these were bodies and thought no more of it - it wasn't like they were not going to be bodies if she left.

The boards above her creaked in protest as they bore weight, and she knew immediately it was Croc due to his distinctive breathing.

Clara still wasn't certain whether this loud breathing was due to the mutation that had led to his nose atrophying away or due to the fact that he was simply so big his breathing was amplified in his huge barrel chest.

What was he doing here? Was he looking for her? Had he tracked her? Clara wondered if she should be afraid, what if he was still annoyed with her? The boards creaked again, then there was small splash as he leaned forward and placed one hand in the cold dark waters of the lake.

'Don't!' she shouted before she could stop herself.

The arm withdrew and a few seconds later he was leaning over the side, squinting at her through the shadows.

'There's supposed be something nasty in the water. Can't you smell it?' she explained herself, a little embarrassed she had been found hiding under the boardwalk - not exactly very brave.

'The dead,' he replied, then withdrew, the boards creaking as he presumably got to his feet. 'There isn't anything to fear from the dead. The dead can't move, and when they can't move they can't do anything.'

'I don't think all of them were dead when they were thrown in,' Clara cautiously began to climb up out from her hiding spot, pulling herself up onto the boardwalk. She tried to watch Croc without appearing to be staring, but she could already tell that the tension from earlier appeared to be gone. There was no directness about his words, he was still facing the lake but he was watching her too. 'You going out on the run to Two-Face's tonight?' she asked, putting her hands in her pockets and leaning back, trying to appear indifferent.

'I've been assigned elsewhere,' he looked away. 'Joker's turf, sabotage.'

'Oh,' she hoped she didn't sound disappointed. 'Maybe we can catch up later?'

He turned to her suddenly, the frown was back, his shoulders hunched. 'What is your problem?' he snarled.

'What did I do?' she asked nervously.

He snarled and turned away again. '...You're talking to me,' he hissed, then went quiet.

'Do you not want me to?' she asked. He didn't reply, so she tried apologising. 'Look, I feel really stupid about earlier, it's just that sometimes I forget that...well...I get very self-centered sometimes, spent too much time with only the company of my own head, you know? Yeah, and sometimes I just think of what I want and assume it's what everyone else wants too. I didn't mean anything by it.'

He still wasn't looking at her, but she took a chance and assumed he was listening.

'It might be easier to think of it this way, I didn't mean to say what I said without saying it…erm, I mean whatever offence I gave, I didn't mean it. Ok, now awkwardness aside, I do need to go,' she dusted herself down and began to head out towards the main entrance. 'But I still would like to talk to you again later, the company of my own head can get overwhelming.'

Croc grunted, but said nothing more. Maybe, Clara concluded, it just wasn't in his nature to use a lot of words

...

There were two people lying crumpled upon the floor. Black and grey clothing, Two-face's men. She knew immediately they were dead and was surprised at how little she reacted. Was she becoming cold? Or was her mind just getting used to the abuse of seeing the dead as an everyday occurrence?

'If you work for the Penguin, you do the job right,' declared Sickle to the small crowd gathering around him, he picked up one of the two dead men by the leg and flung him into an open cabinet. 'A good ornament for sure, the boss will like.'

Clara hurried along past, spotting Enrique and some of the others that he often followed around. There was something different about their group, they didn't integrate well, and she got the distinct impression that they were not cold calculating mercenaries like most of the rest were but nor were they like the loud rowdy lot who had bought their way in through the fighting pit.

Though intimidating, Clara decided that they were probably as good as people got out here, though several had eyed her suspiciously at first and a few still had not said anything to her, none of them had physically tried to harm her. While she still wouldn't trust them as far as she could throw them, she at least hoped that they might prove to be future allies - especially if Croc grew sick of her.

'Jeez, let me guess, trophies from the hunt?' she said sarcastically, putting on the mask of Tony, looking towards the cabinet in which Sickle was now rearranging the corpses as a display.

'Yeah, if a trophy buck was willing to walk up to its hunter and get shot,' snorted Elvis. 'What were those idiots thinking? Coming here on their own, probably thought to get a promotion or something. Two-face let's pretty much anyone join up with his little gang, I wouldn't be surprised if it was swarming with the Joker's spies.'

'Of course, Penguin's methods are so much more efficient. He looks into the background of those he hires first,' remarked Enrique smiling lazily, and for some reason several of the group found this remark rather amusing, a few of them stifling their laughter hurriedly. Clara knew immediately knew it was some sort of inside joke, but she could interpret the meaning in three different ways - one was that the Penguin had a renown history of hiring people who were untrustworthy, the second was possibility could be that they knew something about a current traitor, thirdly their own background history would for some reason be distasteful to their current boss, but that was not something she was going to ask about, that would be treading on dangerous turf.

A few minutes later they headed out into the oncoming dark of night. Clara keeping her head low and her arms folded against her chest for warmth as she kept up with the rest of the gang.

'So what's Killer Croc got on you?' Elvis asked unexpectedly.

'What are you talking about?' she replied, trying her best to sound indifferent.

'Do you know him somehow? You're always hanging around him and he never gets angry, it's kind of obvious that there is something going on.'

'Doesn't get angry?!' Clara sputtered, deliberately cutting out the second half of Elvis' question, knowing she would have to make something up. 'You got the wrong guy, he's threatened to tear me to pieces more than a few times!'

'Oh, so it's you who's got the death wish? You do seem to like putting yourself in dangerous situations,' he was joking, but Clara didn't find it funny.

'No, not a death wish, just a supreme combo of good and bad luck,' she replied grimly, and tried to leave the conversation at that.

'That beast is blackmailing you, isn't he?' the question sounded rhetorical, but due to the nature of the situation Clara chose not to correct it and kept her mouth shut. Let the others believe what they liked.

...

Part of her couldn't actually believe that she was actually allies with the Killer Croc, it just didn't make any sense, but then ever since she had gotten into this mess nothing had made sense anyway. Having now returned from her mission, she was seeking him out again.

People were starting to pick up on the fact that Croc was on the defensive when Clara was around. Few to no people bothered her now, even the Penguin himself seemed to have forgotten that she wasn't really supposed to be there - though this was more likely due to the fact that he had probably forgotten her existence. She still talked to One-eye, but now that she had better footing in the gang, she no longer put up with any of his abuse – walking away whenever he began behaving aggressively. One-eye wasn't a particularly nasty person, it was just that he was completely nuts and unstable as a landslide.

A full moon shone high in the night sky.

Clara was carrying a tin of macaroni cheese in one hand, she had spotted Croc sitting out on his own out in the construction yard and was making her way over to him. There was no one else out here, so she felt pretty much at ease, save for the nagging fear that Croc might still be irritated with her.

'Hey,' she called as she got closer, Croc looked up from the bone he was chewing on – Clara assumed it wasn't human and left the thought at that. 'Erm, mind if I sit with you?'

Croc looked at her suspiciously for a minute, but then shrugged and went back to his meal. Clara settled down next to him on the same crate and began the arduous business of breaking open the tin she had retrieved.

'I got more news on that plan to blow up the bridge to the Joker's,' she told him chirpily, hoping that she wasn't coming off as patronising. 'It's said that the Penguin is going to ask you to plant the explosives under the bridge as you're the only guy who can do so without needing scuba gear, also there was something to do with Mr. Freeze – not really sure who he is – but he's supposedly working with the Joker so the Penguin is looking into methods of getting rid of him.'

'It's good to see you're still alive,' he remarked unexpectedly.

'Oh, thanks. You too,' she smiled at him. 'Nothing you couldn't handle though, right?'

Croc grunted, and leaned to one side to pick something up out of view from where Clara was sitting, then tossed it to her. 'Here.'

Clara caught the piece of material, it was a beanie much like the one she had lost at the Hatter's. Curiously she looked up at him.

'I found it on the last raid,' Croc said, shrugging a little uncomfortably. 'Figured you might like it, with it getting cold and all.'

'Thank you,' Clara replied shyly, pulling the hat down over her cold ears. 'Though I don't actually have anything of my own to give, I guess I'll have to find you something.'

'It's a present, you don't need to give anything back,' he replied awkwardly, obviously new to the whole process of gift giving.

'Well when I find you something, then it will be a present as well,' she replied matter-of-factly. 'There is a big raid planned for one of Two-Face's bunkers tomorrow, maybe I can find something then.'

When a large clawed hand rested upon her shoulder she didn't flinch, and as ironic as it was in the situation – she felt safer than she had done in months.

Without explanation, or even looking at him, she leaned against his side pressing the side of her head to nearest part of his chest she could reach.

'What are you doing?'

Clara blushed and pulled back immediately. 'I just wanted to-, ...be near?' she lost her original meaning in a jumble of words as she flustered.

He didn't look angry, just bemused.

'Does saying that I wanted to hear your heartbeat creepy at all?' she fumbled with her words, inadvertently making the situation more awkward, she looked away, rubbing the back of her neck. 'Yeah, please forget I said that.'

Croc just laughed, and it wasn't a nasty laugh like she had heard a few times before but a genuine one. She couldn't help but smile herself at the situation.

...

It was raining heavily outside, more so than Clara had ever seen before, filling and pouring out the gutters so that street almost resembled a river. Every so often there would be a great flash of lightning that would bathe everything in a shining white light, and the sky would roar with thunder. She shivered beneath the alcove and scowled, even the Penguin couldn't expect them to go out in this, right?!

The structure she was standing under didn't completely protect her from the rain, and she scowled again in disgust at how the water was beginning soak into her clothing. Her face was freezing, she reached up to pull her new beanie down, confident it would keep her warm.

'What are you slugs still doing here?! Get a move on!' shouted their team leader Jim, emerging from the main building.

'Screw this, I don't want to drown!'

'It's freaking cold out!'

'I can't see a thing!'

There was a number of complaints over the weather, no one was eager to leave the shelter of the museum.

'Oh forgive me, I must be mistaken,' their assigned leader told them sarcastically. 'It was my understanding that you all work for the Penguin – so let me tell you how things work here. The boss pays you, the boss feeds you, and in return you do everything you can to keep the boss happy, okay? So you get out there now or I'll throw you lot in the lake myself!'

Miserably the group moved out from under the porch and into the drizzling street, and Clara knew this wasn't the worst of it. As soon as this rain stopped, the cold winter winds would freeze this water into slippery ice, now wouldn't it be _fun_ navigating across _that_?

She smiled at the irony of looking forward to returning from tonight's mission, the irony that she was looking forward to seeing one of Gotham's most dangerous. She had already decided on her gift to Croc, the pack of cards she had stolen. They weren't much, but she had nothing else to offer, and he seemed to be fond of them.

She would give them to him when she got back.

* * *

Perhaps, looking back on it, it had been his fault, though it was more than likely they had been planning it for some time.

But the simple truth was, not all those declared missing at the Mad Hatter's hands were ever found, and apparently this was all the evidence they needed to declare him the perpetrator. Perhaps he shouldn't have _dared _sit out in the open as he waited for Tony to return. Perhaps, when he saw them coming towards him in a pack of a dozen wielding guns, he had been expecting this moment to happen ever since he had first joined the Penguin's gang.

They had said they wanted to talk, but he knew better.

Perhaps, in some perverse way, it made him happy to be proved right. That humanity was not to be trusted, that the only person in the world he could trust was himself.

And his thoughts were only on himself as he lost his temper and flew at them with his jaws wide. Perhaps, funnily enough, they hadn't realised that he wasn't a pushover.

...

The peace was never destined to last. It couldn't, not with the instability of the many meandering minds of madness in Arkham City.

And just when things were beginning to look positive for her for once.

Clara wasn't there when the whole thing started, she heard what was going on before she saw it. The floor itself seemed to be shaking under her feet. She could hear people shouting nearby, yelling in the terror, the occasional cracking of gunfire splitting the air.

There was a great commotion in the hallway closer towards the noise, some were struggling to get away while others were fighting their way through to find out what was going on. Clara, not being the biggest or strongest there, was finding it very hard to move at all.

She stopped trying when she spotted one of Enrique's friends, Tom, standing still in the hallway to one side neither going towards or away from the uproar.

'What the hell is going on?' she asked over the commotion.

When he didn't immediately answer, she tried to continue her fight through the crowd, she had to find Croc or someone that would tell her what was happening. She hadn't gone more than a few steps though when he pulled her back, and it was then she caught sight of Enrique crouched behind Tom, tending to a figure that was slumped against the wall.

'You go in there now, you probably won't be coming out,' Tom warned her. Enrique noticed her there, gave her a grim nod and went back to trying to patch up the injured man lying against the wall.

'Is it the Joker? Two-Face?' she asked, jumping as she tried to see over the crowd. 'Who's attacking us?!'

'No it's-'

Just then there was a roar that shook her to her bones. She recognised the sound immediately.

'It's Killer Croc,' finished Enrique. 'He's gone berserk!'

_Oh, no, this could not be happening!_ She ran, the crowd was thinning now, she managed to get through to lounge. There were bodies upon the floor, smashed chairs and overturned tables.

Croc was roaring in anger, the Penguin's men were shouting and yelling in terror. And there was something else, grey and terrible, and bigger than Croc. The smell of burnt flesh was thick in the air, it seemed the grey thing itself was the source, growling and crackling like ice. This had to be the Penguin's monster that he kept locked below ground; Solomon Grundy.

They were fighting, two behemoths tearing and punching at each other, but though Croc fought viciously, it seemed that no matter how badly he damaged his opponent, the other simply didn't care and wouldn't fall.

The crackling of electricity was a constant buzz, the half living thing that was Grundy glowing an icy blue in its light. Croc drew back snarling whenever he landed blow on the monster, electrocuted every time he got too close.

She shouted to him, but her voice was lost amongst the commotion.

Abruptly Croc broke off from the fight, tearing through and flinging everyone in his path out of his way.

Gunshots continued to ring out. Most of the bullets seemed to glance right off him, but in their wake they left bloody streaks. Clara, her mind screaming inside, ran after him. She couldn't lose him now, the only rock she had in her life to keep her stable!

The doors were closed, Croc smashed through them without even slowing down. The wood splintered loudly as the doors tore apart, crashing back against their frames.

They continued to fire at him as Croc ran off into the night, but he wasn't stopping, not looking back even once.

And Clara knew he wasn't coming back.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, here is the chapter I promised to post before I left. I will be back in about two weeks, see you then. :)

Originally the scene with Clara and Croc outside leaned more towards the romantic, but to be honest I chickened out. My argument is that it's still too soon, Croc's got his serious trust issues to get over and he's only just started trusting Clara.

On a random note, I finally got around to watching Batman Begins, and wow I like their interpretation of Scarecrow: so creepy and sinister! And talking about Batman media, I am so glad in a way that it's been confirmed that Killer Croc is not part of the 'suicide squad' in _Assault on Arkham:_ glad because I thought he was King Shark and couldn't understand why Croc had a new design that suddenly needed metal teeth/brace and a mohawk/fin/thing on his head.

Thank you, _obsessivesyndrome_ and _House Telvanni,_ for your lovely reviews :)

**Quick summary of this chapter:**

Croc awakens the next day and finds that Clara is still there. They talk a little when she wakes up, she talks about trying to escape, Croc already knows though that he doesn't have anywhere to escape to and gets a bit angry at her for bringing up the subject.

Clara returns to the main lobby, where she is met by One-eye, but rather than annoyed he is genuinely distressed and thinks that she was in danger. Clara eventually manages to give him the slip though and hides away, planning to stay there until it's time to leave again. Croc passes overhead and she thinks he is about to get into the water she warns him, letting slip that she is there.

There is a raid planned later that night, to her disapointment though Croc is on a different mission than her own. After the raid, and both are still alive, Clara heads out to find Croc to see if he is no longer irritated at her. Croc gifts Clara a beanie to replace the one she lost.

The next night (or rather evening), Clara is on another mission without Croc (she's just decided on her own gift for Croc – the pack of cards – when she hears uproar). She arrives just in time to see Croc managing to shove away Grundy and escaping outside, and she knows immediately that he won't be coming back.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

**Move on**

The Penguin was not pleased.

'What the bloody hell?!' he was shouting at them. 'We're about control aren't we? We maintain control! So what the heck happened back there, Jim?!'

No one would normally have dared reply, but with his name called directly there was no way for the unfortunate inmate named Jim to avoid the question - though he looked around frantically for a method of escape.

'We got rid of Croc, sir,' he replied unhappily.

The Penguin laughed nastily.

'Ooh, did we now? Well I guess that explains the massive hole in the door!' he shouted sarcastically. 'I knew I should have locked him up, an asset isn't much use when you can't remove it from a cling-film of chains but then at least he would have been a collector's item!'

'He was beyond control-'

'Can anyone here tell me why I lock up Grundy?' the Penguin asked the crowd. 'Anyone?'

'Coz he's dangerous, sir?' one thug suggested, his partially healed scars and many bruises indicating that he was a newer recruit, a few days fresh from the fighting pit and not all that familiar yet with how the gang was run.

'Wrong!' without skipping a beat, the Penguin promptly turned shot the man, he thudded heavily upon the ground. 'Anyone else? No? Hah, how about you, One-eye Junior? Why do you think?'

_Shit…_just when she thought he had forgotten about her.

'Because he's hard to control,' Clara said holding her chin high but looking straight ahead; trying to disguise the fact that she was bracing herself to leap out of the way in case the Penguin decided to take potshots at her next.

'Bingo!' he shouted. 'Five points to club One-eye, we have a winner! Grundy is hard to CONTROL! But he's still useful. Now that stupid hulking pile of scales would also have been useful, if he could have been contained! Now who set the big bastard off?! Come on, speak up, you've won an all expenses paid vacation to an icy shark-filled lake, with _complementary_ cement shoes!'

No one dared point out that nothing could have been done once Croc had been set off, or that it was the Penguin himself who had set Grundy on Croc to stop him from tearing the place apart. Even Sickle, though there was no way he could have been to blame, seemed to be cowering at the Penguin's wrath.

'I don't know what you idiots were thinking,' he continued, as one thug lit him a new cigar at his signal. 'But I know it wasn't much. Was there any plan at all? I didn't think so. So why don't you lot be good boys, find him and bring him back **here**! Dead or alive I don't bloody care! Before the bloody Joker or someone else hires him!'

Fortunately this time, Clara found that she was not the main focus of attention, and she waited the rest of the speech out, hiding in the shadows of others, her thoughts dark.

* * *

Killer Croc fell back heavily against the side of the tunnel, his weight disturbing the crumbling concrete and brick that made up the wall so that a fine hail of dust and debris fell down upon him, but he paid it no attention.

Everything stung, bullets had chipped away at his body all over, splintering scales and some of them digging deep into his flesh. He already knew more than a few of them had gotten under his skin, he could feel the sharp stab of their presence every time he moved - he would have to dig them out himself.

And that stupid great white thing! What the hell even was that? Some sort of nightmare creature that was impossibly strong, glowing with electricity, like his old collar from Arkham Asylum. Croc knew that if his skin had been any thinner he would have been seriously burnt from his fight, but as things were he just felt bruised all over. One of his shoulders smarted from where that thing had tried to wrench his arm off, he suspected it was fractured or something had torn.

He hissed as his mind drew up a parallel of this occasion to one in his youth. Back on the schoolyard he had once been pelted with stones by the other children, actually this had happened to him several times but this particular time was the one time he tried to do something about it, he had told a teacher, as he had seen the others sometimes did when they were picked on. Only none of the teachers had cared, they had told him it had been his fault, they said he had been provoking them.

But like now, and back then, he hadn't been doing anything. Just sitting by himself, minding his own business.

Of course, this was just the ways things were, it couldn't be any other way. If he wasn't suffering the world simply wasn't happy.

Now he had gone back to the subway and the sewers, the places below ground where few rarely ventured. Familiar territory, back again with no food, no pay and all alone once more.

His thoughts briefly strayed back to Tony and he wondered if she would be alright without him around anymore, old habit told him she would be fine and he shouldn't care, but part of him pined for her company. What did she think of him now? What story had the others told her of his departure, and would she believe them?

What if he had killed her in his rampage without even noticing?

He stopped to think about this, it was not something he had considered before, and suddenly he was filled with dread.

It was possible that she hadn't even been there but he couldn't be certain, he had been so filled with rage and underlying fear at being surrounded that his only focus had been on smashing everything and everyone out of his way. Croc had learned from a young age, from when his aunt had died, that the safest people were dead people, because they couldn't hurt you, they couldn't lie to you and above all they couldn't kill you. Dead enemies were good enemies, but whereas it normally would not have mattered to him to distinguish exactly who he was throwing around, on this occasion for all he knew Tony could have been a casualty.

There was no way for him to go back and check if she was alright, there was no way for her to communicate with him - and there was no guarantee she would have even wanted to communicate with him if she could have.

Maybe, he thought grimly as he painfully began to dig out a bullet that had become wedged between his ribs, she had already moved on. She had told him she knew how to survive, perhaps that was all he had been to her, a way to survive.

No one ever wanted him around once his use expired. That was just the way things were.

* * *

It had been a week since Croc had vanished from sight, and people were still talking quite avidly amongst themselves about what had happened, all with slight variations on the event. Some variations stating that Croc had been caught eating one of the guards, others said that he had simply snapped and started killing everyone in sight like some sort of rabid animal.

Clara wasn't sure what to believe. She knew of the damage Croc was easily capable of inflicting, but she didn't want to believe that just after she had begun trusting him that his true nature had revealed itself - that he really was insane.

'Apparently he just freaked out, went ballistic,' said Elvis, when Clara had asked him what had happened. 'One minute he was minding his own business, then BOOM! Tearing apart bodies left and right. The Penguin saw that there was no way to calm him down and decided that releasing Grundy was his only option, and even that barely worked!'

'It's for the best,' Enrique had added, crossing his arms. 'He was nothing but an animal, he couldn't be tamed and probably would have ended up killing all of us if he had been allowed to stick around.'

'…' Clara hadn't responded immediately, crossing her own arms and looking away.

'Tony, I don't know what sort of deal you had going on with him, but you can't be unhappy that he's gone now,' Enrique told her. 'Don't think that I didn't notice, or anyone else didn't notice for that matter, that you were always hanging around him.'

'It was nothing,' she said after being pressured, shaking her head and shrugging. 'I wasn't stealing goods and giving them to him if that's what you're thinking. I was just passing information I had overheard from others to him. In return he was supposed to back me up when I got in trouble. I dunno, it seemed to work...'

'He would have killed you once your use ran out.'

'Perhaps,' she tried to act indifferent. 'I don't care, it doesn't matter now.'

…

With her luck cartwheeling all over the place, Clara of course found herself placed on one of the most dangerous of the missions that month had to offer. They were attacking one of Two-Face's armories following a tip off that he was beginning to gather a large collection of guns and other weaponry that normally would not be found within the compound.

Clara had barely slept for the past few nights, it was hard to when she needed to be on the constant alert. And now, waiting once more to head out for another mission, she found herself nodding off against the wall.

Fortunately it was One-eye who noticed before anyone else.

'Come on, my boy, rise and shine now,' he muttered to her, shunting her shoulder only lightly. Clara started and nodded at him in acknowledgement. Unusually One-eye was also on the mission, she hoped he didn't have another of his 'freak-out' episodes. In fact the entire group this time was mainly composed of senior, more experienced individuals, and Clara was acutely aware of how much she stood out; she was only there as a method of flushing out opposition.

…

Everything went so well at first, they were gaining ground and were close to sending Two-Face's gang packing, but then the tides turned and back-up arrived. Two-Face was obviously playing high stakes this night, practically everyone in the gang had to be there; Two-Face himself was actually present. Clara was frankly terrified, this time simply keeping to the back of the pack wouldn't protect her from projectiles like bullets the way it did crowbars.

Guns were hard to come by in Arkham City, and Two-Face was pulling a bold move by letting so many of his men out armed – the possibility that the weapons would be stolen should the gang fall was 100%. It was a high bet, and Clara wanted nothing to do with it.

Clara threw herself behind a crate, already planning her exit strategy; there was no way she was going to be any use in this fight, and she wasn't going to try either.

It was death to stick around, she would have to get out of here and get out of the way until the fight was over. So she tried to bolt, thinking that in the chaos she might escape unnoticed. Only she was misled, she did not notice the others in her way until she had practically run into them.

Then it happened.

One of Two-Face's men were right beside her, for a split second the barrel was level with her head. But then One-Eye was upon him and doing something unspeakably violent with a knife to the man's face.

'It's alright, son, I've got your back,' he told her grinning proudly, dark red stains all over his front but he had eyes only the person he thought was his son. 'I'll always have you back. I was fast enough this time wasn't I? You're not hurt?'

'I'm fine,' Clara stepped out of his reach. 'Really, I'm okay. Let's just focus on the fight now.'

'You'll always be my boy, you know?' One-eye continued, staring off rather dazedly in her direction – his mind no longer in the present. 'I will always be ther-'

A loud gunshot rang out right by her head.

Clara ducked to the ground and looked around hurriedly for the source of the shot, she spotted Two-Face himself standing just a dozen meters or so away, reloading his gun. He was already aiming to take another shot, thankfully at someone else.

'We're fighting a losing battle, we need to fall back and regroup or something!' she shouted, turning to face One-eye. 'We need to -...One-Eye?'

One-eye was no longer standing beside her but lying sprawled upon the ground, motionless. And to her great horror she saw that in death he was still smiling, he hadn't even been aware that his life had been in danger.

It was too much for Clara, and without saying anything to anyone, she turned on her heel and fled out into the cold night.

Death right in front of her, she was no stranger to it here, but for something to have happened quite so suddenly in front of her, she couldn't believe it. It hadn't happened, part of her mind kept telling her, she kept remembering moments before when he had been talking to her.

She fled back to the museum without even thinking. It was only when she caught sight of the current guard at the door that she realised she had just deserted – she was a traitor, and without One-eye to back her up any longer they would surely kill her. She began to backtrack upon the spot.

But Elvis, one of Enrique's friends, who happened to be the guard tonight, had already spotted her and was waving her over.

'So how did the mission go? You kick some ass out there tonight?' he asked, grinning. 'Come, tell me everything. I've been stuck here for hours now and I'm so bored now that I think I'm going to fall asleep.'

'It...I – disaster,' she managed to get out, then clamped her jaw shut and looked around hurriedly for an excuse to leave.

'Is everything okay?' asked Elvis, and Clara could have sworn she saw real concern on his face – but knew at the same time she couldn't afford to risk believing this.

Clara thought of saying something, but her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, she ended up shaking her head. 'One-eye is dead,' she eventually ground out.

A look of surprise went over Elvis' face, which then seemed to morph into what looked like pity. 'Oh, I'm so sorry Tony. The others said that he wasn't really, well that he wasn't your dad, I-I don't know what to say. You okay?'

'I'm fine,' replied Clara quickly, now looking upon Elvis with suspicion – expecting any moment for him to start laughing at her misfortune; these people were bad guys and she hadn't forgotten it. But she had nowhere else to go, ironically though she no longer had the option to stay either.

'You don't sound it,' Elvis said. 'When my shift is over, you can come have a drink with me and the boys in the lounge. Life's tough here.'

'Yeah, sure,' Clara replied, beginning to turn away. 'Listen, I'll be back in a bit. I just remembered I've got to head back and help the others get back here, you know? The wounded and all.'

'Oh, okay,' replied Elvis seeming to have bought the excuse, with what _had_ to be false pity. 'I'll be right here, but if I'm not I'll be up in the lounge. You know where to find me.'

'Yeah, yeah,' she replied, and began to backtrack slowly towards where the raid had been that night. As soon as she was out of Elvis' sight, she turned away from her path and made for the entrance to the subway she had only used one time before many weeks previously when she had last been on her own and had been chasing a stranger over the bag on his back. Just trying to survive, just as she was now.

She found the terraced platform she had hid on all that time ago.

Silently, Clara looked down the tunnel for any sign of anything living, seeing no one she climbed down. But she had only gone a few steps when Dereck appeared in front of her, causing her to stumble back.

'What are you doing?' he asked exasperatedly, his image kept flickering in and out of sight, but she could hear his voice in her head. 'You just abandoned your lifeline!'

'I did nothing of the sort,' she hissed at him. 'They would have killed me! I bailed on the mission, and One-eye is gone! Do you really think they would have kept me around much longer? They'd kill me!'

'And you think Croc won't?'

'I don't know...but I hope he doesn't. There must have been some sort of reason that he lashed out last week, I don't believe that he simply went insane.'

'Well he was in Arkham asylum, you know? An asylum dedicated in particular to the criminally insane. What even was the purpose of coming down there, you don't get anything out of going after him. You've escaped from the Penguin's gang now. Why bother?'

'Because I don't want to be alone!' she blurted. 'I trust him! He's dangerous, but so is everyone in this facility. He won't turn me away.'

'You sure about that?'

'Yes, yes I am. Even if he doesn't want me alive, then at least I won't be alone and I won't have to suffer any further time in this hell!' she cried. 'I don't need you anymore Dereck! Little what-ifs aren't enough anymore, I will always wonder if perhaps there was something I could have done to prevent your death but I know that never once did I intentionally do anything to hurt you. I wasn't my fault you died, it was a doctor called Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow! I was the last person who would have wanted you dead, but you are, and it was NOT my fault!'

Dereck slowly faded away before her eyes and was gone.

Breathing in deeply, Clara followed the old train tracks deeper under ground, ignoring the old bones that lay scattered about the floor.

It was time to move on.

* * *

**A/N:** Here's a small chapter, next one should be posted within the next day or so hopefully. I've written up to chapter 17 in draft form now (in my long break with no internet, I had some free time), I hope to now rapidly post up the rest of these chapters - warning, I tend to take forever to do anything, so I can't make any promises, but I will try my hardest.

_Response to reviews:_

Thank you _darkwolf1121_, _Sunnycroc _and _LurkingLady _for you reviews! :D

But _LurkingLady_, you saw into the future O_O, how did you know I was going to get rid of One-eye? I feel kinda bad for killing him off :( The best way to think of it though is that at least he died happy, thinking he had just saved his son from death.

I'll give him a little background because I never really went into it, but basically One-Eye has always been stuck in the criminal world, but for the good part of his later years he worked for the Penguin. Then one day he tried to take his son into work with him, but his son was killed on his first day by a hit-and-run case during a heist. Slowly over the years One-eye went insane with grief, always questioning what if there was one tiny little thing that he could have done differently. He blames himself for the accident, but since he can't live with this grief, the way his mind adapted to deal with it is by denying it ever happened. Thus the series of Tonys over the years, who all in turn died or fled.

**Quick summary of this chapter:**

Croc has left, but Clara must continue on her own if she wants to survive.

There is a mission to raid one of Two-Face's armories. The Penguin's gang quickly begin to lose this particular battle, One-eye is shot in the process. Clara, with no firm allies within the group, realises that she has to leave. She set off in search of Croc, hoping that he will not turn her away.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**Friend**

All around her the tunnels echoed as she walked, the old ground scuffing below her shoes.

She walked for what seemed hours, through miles of underground tunnels, searching.

Croc was nowhere to be found though, and she started to worry that he might not be around at all. Clara remembered that the Penguin had been worried about Croc going off to work for someone else - she hoped this was not the case as if he had Clara knew there was very little chance she'd be able to follow him.

But worse still she feared that on rounding one of the twisting tunnels that she would find him dead, having succumbed to the injuries dealt the week before. She didn't know how badly he had been hurt in the fray but seeing as he had been shot at by at least half a dozen people and had been fighting some sort of giant monster at the same time it would be a miracle if he had escaped unscathed.

Clara didn't dare call out for him, she knew these routes were sometimes used as shortcuts by the various locals within Arkham City and she wasn't going to risk giving away her position.

She couldn't give up yet though, she had no idea what she was going to do if she couldn't find him. She did not want to be alone again.

The route she was currently taking ran by a stagnant waterway from the drainage system that had long since been disused, she knew Croc swam so she reckoned he might use this route, but what she didn't like was the narrow walkway by it was impossible to hide on if anyone came the other way.

All the time she walked she listened for any sound that might indicate the approach of anyone.

But like everywhere else she had searched that night it was empty, she was alone.

Then the water to her right seemed to explode.

She knew it was Croc immediately, but it was clear that he didn't know it was her, and Clara was only just able to evade his claws as he swiped at her, brick chipping away behind her with a crack as she leapt away.

Only to stumble and fall into the water.

It was freezing, and she surfaced sputtering and struggling to get out again. But Croc had already slid back into the water by this time, she felt the water surge behind her like a tidal wave as he came at her again.

Hands fastening around her form, claws digging in.

'Croc, stop!' she managed to yelp just before he pulled her beneath the surface.

The water was suffocatingly cold and dark, and his grip was inescapable and crushing. She could have easily died within the next few seconds, but he must have recognised her voice because the pressure on her almost immediately stopped increasing, but she could feel his claws had already torn through the material of her jacket and cut into her skin.

Surfacing again she gasped for air. She found herself looking right back at him, and in the low lighting she hoped that he would recognise her too.

'Tony?' he questioned disbelieving, bringing her closer to scrutinise her.

'That's what they call me,' she said through her constricted lungs, frail fingers tugging on his to release her. He slowly let go of her, giving her an odd look.

'What are you doing here?' he growled almost angrily.

'I never got to say good bye,' she replied weakly. 'You left so suddenly.'

Croc didn't reply, he swam around her curiously, the motion of the water nearly spinning her. Clara paddled for the side of the waterway, grabbing onto the hard surface of the walkway.

'Croc?' she asked as he silently continued to circle her.

'Follow me,' he told her without explanation, turning and swimming away.

Clara, realising she was about to be left behind in the cold water on her own, kicked away from the side and trying to follow after him.

The whole situation was rather surreal, and her mind was still catching up with what had happened.

She could barely see him in the tunnel, he was just a dark shadow in the water, and she quickly found herself falling behind, having to paddle rapidly just to stay afloat as her clothes became saturated with water and began to drag her down.

'Hey, slow down!' she cried after him.

Croc circled back, almost completely submerged below the water, and for a moment he looked much like his namesake - then he disappeared below the water. Clara was a little spooked by this action, she knew he was there but she couldn't see him, and wasn't exactly sure what he was up to.

For a moment she was paddling alone in a dark tunnel, the cold seeping into her bones.

Then abruptly a hard uneven surface was rising up below her, instinctively she gripped on. Croc surfaced with a snort, breathing out the water he had inhaled in a surge of mist. Clara found herself resting against his broad back, she held onto his shoulder.

'Joker's goons use this passage way as a shortcut,' he informed her as he began to swim again, Clara could feel the water surging around them as Croc swam. 'I've got a more sheltered spot close by.'

'Okay,' she replied quietly.

Croc swam for a good further ten minutes or so, most of the journey was silent. Clara didn't really know what to say to him, as asking what exactly had happened the week before might be awkward - as would asking how his week away had been. Croc didn't really say anything either, but whether this was because he didn't know what to say or simply did not want to talk wasn't apparently obvious.

'You're a very fast swimmer,' she remarked as the silence began to stretch.

'Yeah,' Croc replied, and left it at that.

Ahead of them she could see brighter lights and an opening into a different tunnel, it was dry land and Croc appeared to be heading for it. As Croc stood the water around him rushed off as a wave, Clara fell back into the water with a splash, surfacing and sputtering in indignity at the shock, water in her eyes and up her nose, and she was freezing!

Clara paddled rapidly for dry ground, Croc stood waiting for her in the water - but where he could stand comfortably waist deep in the water she could barely touch the ground with her toes. Clara put her arms upon the edge of the waterway and tried to pull herself up, but found that it was impossible. The space between the ledge and the water was too high for her to get proper leverage, and her clothes, especially her jacket, were sodden and heavy with water.

'You gonna get out?' he asked, watching her pathetic struggles indecipherably.

'I'm trying, give me a minute,' she complained, but it was hopeless, she was freezing cold, her hands turning numb, and her waterlogged clothes felt as if they weighed a tonne. She kicked frantically at the water, churning it up and getting nowhere. Croc either got impatient or took pity on her at this point because he swam over and picked her up out of the water before climbing up himself.

'Thank you,' she said, teeth chattering with the cold, once he had placed her down again.

'You're cold,' he remarked.

'Well, I've been warmer,' she tried to joke, but even she didn't find it very funny, her cold damp clothes were sticking to her and she felt like an icicle, she tried to change the subject. 'So...you left rather unexpectedly.'

'I didn't have a choice,' he replied a little irritably. 'They would have gutted and stuffed me like a damn trophy, then put me in a display cabinet,'

'I thought it might be something like that,' she replied, leaning to one side trying to get a better look at him. But despite the ordeal of having been shot at by several guns the week before, he didn't have any open wounds - scales had been chipped away in places and there were some obviously new scars, but he had healed well. 'It's good to see you're still in one piece, I was looking everywhere, I was worried you might have died.'

'You were?' he asked surprised, but then he looked away hurriedly as if embarrassed - and it took a few moments before he looked back at her with a scowl to compensate for his moment of weakness. 'What _are_ you doing here?'

'Like I said, I was looking for you.'

'If this is about going back to the Penguin's gang, you can forget it,' he warned her. 'I'm not going back there, I'm better on my own.'

'It's not, I promise,' she told him sincerely. 'I've deserted, I'm not going back there either.'

'What happened? What did they do to you,' he growled, catching her arm and pulling her closer to inspect her. He hesitated upon finding where he had torn her jacket, any blood from the ordeal had been washed away but he could see the damage he had inflicted - how close he had nearly come to killing her.

'They didn't do anything.' she said, but found herself wrapping her arms around his as she desperately sought comfort. 'But they would have done if I had stayed. You know the guy who I said thought I was his son? He was shot, just a few hours ago. I wouldn't have lasted much longer without him if I had stayed. I hated working for the Penguin, but it was a way of surviving at least. I'm glad to have left.'

…

They came to the end of a tunnel where there was a large hole in the ground – much of the brick work having fallen away to reveal a room below the surface. Croc promptly dropped down into the room with an almighty thud, leaving Clara to dawdle awkwardly at the edge of the drop – she was not going to risk leaping some 10 feet onto an uneven floor.

'Here,' he offered presently, raising his arms to her. 'I'll catch you.'

Clara frowned a little, but she leapt. He wasn't particularly soft to land on, and for a moment in her mind she compared him to a tough leather sofa. It was strange being this close to him, in a near hug that wasn't really a hug, she almost didn't want to be let go.

Croc deposited her gently upon the ground.

The room they were in wasn't very big, particularly not for Croc, and it contained two mattresses and a small table - Clara couldn't help but wonder if this place had had occupants before Croc had moved in. Indeed there were human bones around, skulls in particularly dictating that they couldn't have belonged to anything else, and she took a hurried step back. For one blissful moment she had forgotten who she was dealing with.

She noticed Croc freeze behind her, and she turned to peek nervously up him, Croc wasn't looking at her though but glaring at the bones scattered about the room.

'I...err, nice place,' she offered feebly. 'Roomier than my old one, I was living in the crawlspace under some old house.'

'Most people don't come back this far, so I don't need to worry about them catching me by surprise,' he responded a little distractedly, making a rather poor attempt to clear the floor by kicking some of the bones to the one side – unfortunately this just made Clara more aware of them as they rattled upon the ground.

'You can stay here if you want, but there isn't much room,' he told her promptly. 'But you're going to have to find your own food, I haven't got anything down here.'

'I can manage, like I did before,' she replied, moving to sit on the mattress that did not feature the centre piece of skulls and metal chains. 'I'm just glad to get out of the cold, and well...you know, not be on my own like I was before.'

Croc grunted and then crouched down to sit against the wall opposite her, seemingly at a loss at what else to do.

'What's your plan then? Go back to old times like before you joined the Penguin's, except you'll be staying here, right?' he asked, he sounded rather hopeful.

'As long as you don't mind, you're the only person I trust in the whole of Arkham City,' but even as she said this her eyes couldn't help but wander towards where she could see the bones of Croc's previous victims. Involuntarily she shuddered, it was impossible to simply pretend nothing was wrong.

'If you trust me, then why are you so frightened?' his mood abruptly changed.

'I don't mean to be. I-I err...well, I'm came from a very different environment, erm, to this place,' she replied quietly. 'Death and stuff...I'm not used to it yet, I don't know if I ever will be, but I'm trying my best.'

He didn't reply, and Clara feared she had upset him.

'What I mean is that I'm kind of frightened _all _of the time,' she said hastily. 'It's kept me alive this long, so it must be doing some good.'

'You're frightened I'm going to eat you, aren't you?' he asked irritably, glaring at the bones on the ground again.

'No, of course not.'

Croc moved quickly, abruptly he was crouched over her. Clara fell back in surprise, raising her hands in front of her to keep him back, finger tips pressed against his pale scarred chest. Wide eyed she looked up at him fearfully, and he stared back.

'You're lying, I smell your fear,' he accused, he drew back, moving away from he so that he was sitting on the mattress beside her. He made no move to leave nor to move her though. Clara lay flat on her back for a few seconds in total silence, but then she sat up as well.

'I would have reacted exactly the same way if anyone else had tried to scare me like that!' she told him, swallowing her fear. 'You scared me on purpose! Stop accusing me of trying to trick you, I wouldn't be down here if I didn't want to be, I came here voluntarily.'

'Why?' he growled, not looking at her.

'Because I thought we were friends...' she bit out bitterly. 'I thought that maybe you cared, just a little...maybe.'

'So you thought that I would help you out?' he snarled accusingly.

'I'm not seeking charity, I'll earn my keep, I'll do what I promised to originally – I lure some idiots down here for you like you wanted,' she said, and then rather brokenly added. 'But please, don't send me away. I promise I won't go back on my word. Even if you don't consider me a friend, I consider you one, and right now there is no one I would rather be around than you.'

'A friend?' Killer Croc didn't seem to have anything to add to that, he turned around to look at her again but would not look her in the eye. 'You can stay here, I already said so.'

He seemed unable to say anything else, so she tried filling in the gap.

'So what area of the city are we below at the minute? I'll need to familiarize myself with the area before I can be of any use.'

'I don't want you luring no one,' he growled, flopping backwards so that his shoulders and head lay upon one half of the mattress. 'You'll get yourself killed.'

'...you don't? That's good I guess,' she replied, pleasantly surprised. 'But I'm going to have to go up anyway, to find myself food, I might as well know about the area.'

'I want you to keep away from the Joker's territory, he's got snipers everywhere,' he warned her, turning to regard her with his intense gaze. 'Anywhere North of the bridge is alright, it's not claimed by any of the big three. Still dangerous though, every psycho without a patch of turf lives there.'

'I know how to look after myself,' she grumbled, she remembered that the biggest hauls she had ever gotten had always been from the bigger gangs - but she knew all too well that they had to be the most dangerous ones as well. 'I survived just fine before.'

'Yeah, I remember, you were skin and bone,' he agreed with her sarcastically.

'I did better than some.' she countered, pouting. 'And if I remember correctly you weren't all that chubby yourself, one of the first things I noticed about you back then was your ribs.' Then rather bravely, she leant over and poked him in the side to exaggerate her point.

'I'm an opportunist, I see an opportunity and I take it,' he looked up towards the crumbling ceiling. 'It just that there aren't many opportunities here.'

Clara got the impression that Croc was not tired at all at the moment, but he didn't leave her. They continued talking intermittedly until Clara fell asleep.

* * *

When he awoke, he could feel the living warmth of a body by his side.

Tony, or whatever her real name was, had moved in her sleep. Though facing away from him, her back was pressed right up against his arm and shoulder, and there was something oddly comforting about someone being there. The feeling it brought to him of being loved again, like back before the circus had been blown apart, a point to being alive other than simply living to be alive.

And it was good to see her alive, for her to be so near. When he thought about how he had nearly killed her he was filled with dread. He could have easily torn her to pieces and not even recognised who she was until he had been feasting on her bones. It was horrible to even imagine. He wouldn't let it happen again, he would make sure he knew where she was in future, he would protect her. If she felt safe then he in turn would feel safe.

Talking about feeling safe...

The skulls and bones of his past victims littered the room still, he knew their presence distressed her. And though he cursed himself for being weak, knowing full well he could force her to stay if he wanted, he didn't want her to want to leave. Her staying here by her own freewill meant a lot more to him than anything had in a while, and he decided that as soon as she was awake that they would find another hideout, somewhere else to sleep where Tony wouldn't be reminded of what he was.

Cannibalism. He didn't know how many times the doctors in Arkham Asylum had tried to drill it into him that it was inhumane, but since he knew that they also thought his whole existence was inhumane, this hadn't meant much to him. It was something that had crept up on him, in his earlier days there had always been jokes that 'the-gator-boy' might bite but as time passed his hatred of humanity increased, one day he had just snapped. Dead enemies were good enemies, he had learnt that long ago, but there was nothing better than an enemy which had been completely erased from existence - that was all gone. Here in Arkham City, it had become a necessity again, he caught and killed anyone he could, not merely his most hated enemies.

Clara mumbled in her sleep and shifted to lie on her back.

She looked so frail. Ashen faced and exhausted, grubby and too thin, she was better off than when they had first met, but only just.

A possessive feeling overcame him. He wanted to touch her, to just prove that she was really there, and ignoring the warning in his mind that he might hurt her, he rested one hand upon her stomach. She moved only minimally in response, turning her head so that he could see her sleeping face. A strange beauty in her tranquility. He had never been close like this to someone before, it was thrilling in a strange way.

Encouraged by her lack of responsiveness, he rolled over onto his side, leaning his weight on his left elbow to get a better look at her - but in doing so he knocked the area where he had accidentally injured her the day before.

Clara did wake up this time. Eyes opening in surprise at the unexpected pain.

'Oh, hi,' she exclaimed, wide eyed upon finding him so close. Then she went red in the face and fell silent. He quickly drew back, embarrassed, rolling over onto his back again and looking away from her. Clara quickly sat up beside him, wincing at her cuts.

'I suppose it's time to wake up,' she said, laughing uncomfortably, rubbing the back of her neck. 'I'll need to head out now.'

'Head out where?' he asked, then quickly tried to reason with her, fearing that she might run off. 'We're going to find somewhere else to sleep, no need to worry about staying around here.'

'It's not that, I'm starving,' she replied shrugging her shoulders. 'I won't be going far, just to my old hideout. I buried some tins of food for an emergency backup a while back, I want to see if it's still there.'

'I still say we find some place better than this corner. It does the job fine for me, but that ain't enough now,' he replied relieved, getting to his feet. 'This place feel kind of cramped.'

'Ok,' she looked as if she wanted to say more, but didn't dare. Inside he sighed in annoyance as she carefully got to her feet avoiding eye contact, she was so timid so much of the time, he didn't like it, the behaviour was too similar to that of everyone els- then she looked up at him and smiled. Smiled - a sort of terrible sad beauty behind all the grime. He felt as if he had been hit by a tonne of bricks, overcome by a feeling he was completely unfamiliar with, and he found himself looking away.

'So, um, lead the way?' said a small voice by his arm, and a few seconds later he felt little fingers touch cautiously at the back of his hand. Experimentally he turned his hand over so that hers fell into his palm, to his surprise she didn't pull away – though she did look a little uncertain. Then, unexpectedly, her fingers closed around his thumb.

'You're going to have to help me up, I'm not going to be able to climb that,' she said, gesturing to gap in the ceiling. Her gaze then dropped, having caught sight of the bones on the ground again. Croc wasted no time getting her out of there, scooping her up wordlessly under one arm and climbing up back into the tunnel.

'Hey, you're gonna have to put me down,' she told him after a few moments in which he held her, looking around as he decided on which route he would take to search for a new place. 'I can't really walk like this.'

'We're going to have to meet back in here in an hour,' he told her, reluctantly allowing her to slide down onto her feet again. 'Or you're going to have trouble finding me again.'

'I won't be long, I just need to grab whatever is left back at my old hideout,' she replied. 'I just hope it's not all been found.'

'...' he did not know the right words to express how he felt about her going out in the open again, what he felt was a combination of dread and fear, he did not want her to leave his side again. It was not just possessiveness that drove this emotion though, but one of concern, a feeling that he hadn't experienced in many years now.

'I'll be right back,' she told him when he didn't reply.

He pretended to be indifferent, but he was listening to the distant sound of her footsteps long after she had vanished from sight.

* * *

Someone had been living in her crawlspace hideout since she was left it weeks before. She found discarded matches, bloodied bandages and a partially rusted knife that lay discarded to one side. But as soon as she began to grow concerned that there might be someone around, it vanished, replaced by disgust and horror. The person who had been living here had never left, their dead body was curled in one corner, their arms wrapped around their chest, frozen in their last move to save themselves from the cold. Though perhaps the temperature was not the sole killer for there were also suspicious dark splotches about the ground, indicating a more violent death.

Badly injured at the hand of an enemy or frozen to death in the cold of winter. Clara knew that this person could have easily been her if she had stayed.

And she realised just how lucky she had been so far.

She found that her stash had never been uncovered, and she quickly dug it up with the discarded empty can she had left there. Though the spare coat she remembered using as a makeshift sleeping bag was missing. Clara looked over to the corpse again, she couldn't really tell in the darkness of the crawlspace but she reckoned the dead man was likely wearing the missing coat. When she prodded him to confirm that he was indeed dead, she found him rock solid and stiff, decomposition slowed by the icy temperatures but body immobile and cold - dead for some time now. Used to scavenging, Clara thought she shouldn't have felt uncomfortable recovering the jacket, but she couldn't bring herself to.

Suddenly feeling horribly claustrophobic and nauseated, Clara took the tins she had salvaged and scrambled out of the rotting crawlspace as quickly as she could.

She ran out into the cold street, not really paying attention, her sole focus was now on returning to the tunnels and Croc. He'd protect her, she'd be safe down there. Safety was all that mattered right now.

And because of this lack of attention she practically ran into one of the Penguin's patrols. There was at least twenty of them, all moving quietly with weapons raised, out into the city. She literally crashed into one of the stragglers.

She acted quickly, falling back silently, but the man had already seen her. And in the light of the moon Clara saw that it was Enrique. Silently she shook her head at him, pleading with him not to alert the others.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry about the delay, I've got an excuse as always (not that it means much with how often I give them :P), I wanted to extend this part of the story so I ended up splitting the original version of this chapter into two parts (the extra time spent was on extending these parts so that they made reasonable chapter lengths, adding extra dialogue, scenes, blah blah blah).

In the future (sort of spoiler, but I'm not saying how soon, though can promise not for a few more chapters yet) this story's setting will be moving into Gotham City itself. I'm really annoyed with Arkham Knight's release date being delayed, originally I was hoping to move right along with it in early October, but now that it looks like it won't be released until next February, I guess I will have to improvise and hope the story can remain in cannon with the games.

Thank you _LurkingLady _and _KitWilliams_ for your reviews! :)

**Quick summary of this chapter:**

Clara, in searching for Croc, is nearly killed by him accidentally as he doesn't initially recognise her. Croc then leads her back to his current lair where she stays until the next day. Croc decides that need to move out after realising that Clara is frightened by all the bones he has still lying around the place - meanwhile Clara plans to head back to her old hideout to retrieve the food she left there. The two split up temporarily, agreeing to meet back in the same place in about an hour. Clara finds out that someone has been living in and died in her old hideout since she left, nauseated at the fact that this could have easily been her, she runs out into the street and crashes right into Enrique who is part of a large group of Penguin's men heading for Two-Face's turf.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note:** Longest chapter ever ahead O_O

* * *

**Chapter 15**

**Possessive**

'What was that?' hissed some of those closer to the back of the group.

Clara pressed her back flat against the building behind her, hoping to blend in with the shadow, silently pleading with Enrique not to say anything. He had been one of the few inmates she had known that hadn't actively sought to either hurt or ignore her in the Penguin's gang, but there was no guarantee he would continue to act in such a way now that she had deserted.

He looked back at her, frowning, but then he sighed and turned away. 'It was nothing, okay? Just stumbled.'

'You stumble later and you die,' snorted someone else, a new figure walking back to place an unwelcome arm around Enrique's shoulders, grinning nastily. Clara recognised him immediately, after all this time of trying to avoid him at the Penguin's. It was the lunatic that had tried to kill her for kicks shortly after she had first joined.

'I don't plan to stumble,' Enrique replied, shoving Loud-mouth Frankie roughly away from him without a second thought. 'Let's move.'

But Frankie was now squinting in her direction with his head tilted to one side. Clara stayed as still as possible, hoping that he might just think she was a shadow and move on. But it was all too obvious that he already knew someone was hiding in the dark.

'Well if it ain't my old buddy, Tony,' he crowed loudly. Clara tried to flee, but he caught the back of her jacket and spun her into a headlock. 'Look guys, look who's just shown up! It's a ratbag traitor!'

The patrol stopped at the shout, everyone looked back. But there was already a state of tension in the air, a sense of urgency, this was not like the night when Frankie had last caught her and forcing her to play blind man's buff had been good source of entertainment. Some of the group began to converge back to get a better look, but it was clear that most of them weren't interested and just wanted to move on.

'Get rid of him,' replied the leader of the group without a second thought as soon as he saw who it was. 'Kill him, I don't care.'

'Just like that? That doesn't sound very fair,' mused Frankie way too happily to be genuine. 'That doesn't sound very fair at all, does it Tony?'

'We don't have time for this crap. We got a schedule to keep!' snarled someone else. 'Frankie, get rid of him!'

'Yeah, Two-Face's turf isn't far from here. Why don't you just let him go, we're going to draw attention to ourselves if we make too much noise,' Enrique said, stepping in, he sounded neutral but Clara was touched at the move; he was trying to save her.

'But that ain't a problem, is it?' Frankie replied, one arm still locked around Clara's neck. 'Two-Face's days are numbered, he isn't what he used to be. He's recruiting left and right now. Wouldn't be surprised if he took this deserting rat in.'

'I never deserted! I got lost on my way back to the museum!' she tried to talk her way out of danger, but it was hard when her neck was close to being crushed in the crook of an elbow, and it didn't help that with her nerves she hardly sounded convincing. 'It was dark!'

'Oh, poor little Tony got lost did he? Well bless you, why that could have happened to anyone of us,' Frankie spoke to the crowd, his eyes gleaming insanely. 'And talking about anyone...Enrique, didn't a pal of yours claim to have last seen Tony at the museum? Didn't you accuse poor old Avery of killing him, because the kid _never_ did return with the survivors?'

'One-eyed Callum had just died, I don't think Tony was in his right mind,' Enrique replied, trying to defend her.

'One-eye and Tony were not related, everyone knows that! No, our little friend here is more sneaky than that. Likes to play games, so here I was just wondering...' Clara felt cold hard metal press against the side of her head, she didn't need to see it to know that it was a gun. 'Has young Tony ever heard of Russian Roulette?'

'I freaked out, okay?! I ran back to the museum sure, but I tried to return to help when I got my head back!' Clara tried to excuse herself frantically. 'I got lost on my way back to the warehouse!'

'Ah, you just contradicted yourself street-rat! You just told us you got lost on the way back to the museum, but _now_ it's back to the warehouse? Mind you, where most of the team died. I know a liar when I see one.'

'Shut it, Frankie, you're making too much noise!' someone else complained, there was a few murmurs of agreement, some looked around nervously just to confirm that they were not being sneaked up on.

'Shh, I think I heard something!' someone said nervously.

Everyone strained to listen. Frankie rolled his eyes and promptly fired off a series of shots into the still air.

'What the hell, Frankie?!' the leader of the group growled, storming over to glare at him. 'Two-Face ain't deaf, and nor is anyone else in this city! Have you gone crazy?!'

Clara couldn't see his face, as his arm was still firmly lodged around her neck, but she could tell the man holding her was hyperventilating in a very unnatural way, almost as if he was scared. Perhaps going crazy wasn't far from the truth, whatever Frankie's new problem was, she didn't want to know.

'The boss has been questioning your job recently, now I'm beginning to see why,' said another.

'I was just proving a point is all-'

'There is someone watching us!'

There was a furious growling roar that seemed to shake the very air around her.

'Oh god! It's Killer Croc!'

For a moment this warning seemed to hang in the air silently. Then the wooden fence to one side splintered instantly, the sound of gunfire was abruptly all around her.

Clara felt the ground shuddering below her feet.

Havoc broke out immediately. Most of them were mercenaries, used to working on their own, teamwork was not their strong suite. Several broke off immediately to run away. Any order in the formation of the patrol was lost very quickly.

Clara cowered as a man easily twice her weight went flying overhead into a wall, another somehow ended up half way through a broken window on the second floor of a nearby building.

Somehow though, through all of this, Frankie seemed to realise something, even as his fellow inmates were being tossed left and right, and he didn't release his grip on her, gun pressed more firmly than ever to her head.

'Hey, freak!' he shouted at Croc, though he was barely audible over the rapid gunfire and the yelling of the others. 'You looking for this?' he pushed Clara in front of him like a shield.

Croc froze immediately.

Everyone noticed this strange reaction. Those that had not been fatally mauled, or fled, stopped firing, and looked amongst each other. Then slowly they began to back away.

'Frankie, you're crazy, what are you doing?!' hissed one of them as Croc glowered, bleeding and furious.

'Shut up, it's working!' Frankie snarled back at his colleague. 'Isn't it obvious? These two know each other, that's why Croc never ate him back at the museum!'

'Give her here, and maybe I won't eat you,' Croc threatened, voice a vicious venomous hiss.

'Her?' Frankie was playing a dangerous game, and the others knew it. 'Hah, well I guess that explains a few things.'

It was only now that he realised that his colleagues were backing away from the scene, all of those that had managed to avoid serious damage when Croc had charged them were already running away. And suddenly Frankie didn't look quite so sure of himself.

'Please, let go of me!' Clara pleaded. 'You're only making this worse for yourself!'

'Shut up!' Frankie replied, a definite nervous edge in his voice now. He began to stumble back when Croc took an earth-shaking step forward, he dragged Clara with him. 'Come any closer and I'll blow her brains out!'

Clara hyperventilated, she could see Croc's heaving form looming near them, he looked so angry. She wouldn't be surprised if he simply decided to forgo her life in favour of killing Frankie. It was stalemate, nothing would change until one of the two opponents backed down, and it was her life that was on the line.

She acted without thinking. With new found strength, she smashed her elbow into her captor's face and leapt away.

Stunned by her sudden move, Frankie didn't immediately fire, and this was all the time Croc needed to act.

He moved far faster than she could have thought possible, grabbing Frankie by the arm that held the gun, easily lifting him up off the ground. This move was accompanied by a series of terrible sharp cracks and yells as Croc's grip crushed the man's arm.

And she could have sworn that Croc was grinning.

She screamed. She couldn't help it, she was terrified. Clara could see that some of the men Croc had tossed out of his way were not moving, they lay where they'd been thrown, and she knew that if they weren't dead then they probably would be soon.

Inadvertently she drew Croc's attention back to her and away from the carnage. He lost interest in his victim, and simply flung the wailing man away like a sack of dirt.

He began to move towards her. He was bloodied and breathing heavily, and never before had she seen him look more like a monster.

Clara began to back away from him, so scared of the power and danger she saw in Croc that she wasn't thinking straight, her instincts screaming at her to run.

Croc had no patience for her right now though, grabbing her roughly up off the ground so that he held her against his chest with one arm. He turned back in the direction he had thrown Frankie, the man was still moving, whimpering as he frantically staggered to his feet, clutching his ruined arm. Frankie's right arm was hanging loosely at his side like a rag, he made no attempt to make any snide comment as he both stumbled and ran for his life.

Croc began to follow after him.

'No, please don't!' Clara found herself begging him, she did not want to bear witness to Croc pulling a human being apart. 'Please!'

Croc stopped in his tracks, but he didn't look at her.

Clara couldn't bring herself to say anything after that. Hiccupping and shivering, she pressed closer to her saviour and clung to him.

Croc continued to watch the Penguin's retreating crew until they were gone from sight, Clara felt his grip around her was getting uncomfortably strong, she wriggled to free her left arm that was being crushed beneath her. This seemed to bring him back to the present because he immediately turned around and began to head back for the underground tunnels.

They were back below ground, safe from the worst of the cold once more. But they were not heading back the way she had come, but down a different tunnel. Croc was silent for the journey, more intent on getting to their destination as quickly as possible.

They came to the end of a tunnel where there was a dead-end, a partial cave-in made a wall of rubble to one side, Croc made his way around onto the other side of this.

He fell back against the wall, still holding her to his chest.

One of her hands upon his chest caught on an open cut and he hissed abruptly. 'You're hurt!' she said, she could feel his chest rising and falling with every breath, and feel his heartbeat below her hands.

'I know,' he growled back. He still didn't let go of her, holding her tightly as if fearing she would run away.

* * *

It was not the first, nor the last time, he knew that he would probably feel such pain. He had been shot at before, and probably would be again in the future. The sharp sting of where bullets had clipped him or dug beneath his skin. But there was one very big difference from every time before, he had _her_ with him. And it was ridiculous how content her presence made him feel.

She wriggled in his grip again, reminding him that he was getting close to crushing her again. He loosened his hold, but only slightly.

He had come so close to losing her again, just the night before he had nearly killed her by accident and now this, she was making him insane!

It was strange when he thought about it, how he had gone from not caring what happened to her to not wanting to let her out of his sight for fear that something would happen to her. His search for a new hideout had been hurried, done as quickly as possible. As soon as he had found a new tunnel that he thought seemed half-way decent, he had gone back immediately to where he had agreed to meet her. When she didn't arrive back early, he had gone looking for her, tracking her.

It had felt as if he'd fallen a great height when he found her back in the grip of the Penguin's gang. At first he had been angry at her, he thought she had returned to them, and he hadn't emerged from where he was hidden. But it quickly became apparent that they planned to kill her, and then he had been furious. With no regard for his own safety he had charged them.

And then some skinny bastard had had the audacity to use Tony as a hostage. And like some sort of weakling he had frozen.

Pathetic, that's what he'd call it.

Then to make things worse, instead of getting his revenge by ripping the offending man to pieces, he had to let him go. She had been freaking out, terrified out of her mind, trying to escape from him and then when he caught her she had begged him to stop. And she had been so afraid, so noticeably small and vulnerable that he couldn't ignore her, especially not when she pressed up to him as if begging for reassurance. As if he was normal.

It had all worked out in the end more or less though, he had gotten her back. But at what cost? Several now knew he had a weakness, the message would spread, if anyone caught Tony again they would be sure to use her life against him.

He couldn't let that happen.

She wriggled again. This time rather insistently.

'Not to be rude, but you're bleeding all over me,' she and then added in a strained voice. 'And squishing me into a pulp.'

Her expression was indecipherable, all wide eyes and frowns. She was still scared and twitchy, and he literally had no idea how to calm her down.

'Please let go of me,' she asked more directly, when he didn't respond. 'Come on, at least ease up the crushing grip, I'm not a pillow.'

He didn't really want to let go, but he did it anyway, allowing her to slide off. But she didn't leave, running worried eyes over him. Croc did his best to straighten up and look as ill-effected as he could. But to be honest he was exhausted, he hadn't eaten anything in two days before and had been unable to find time to go looking since she had arrived.

There was a clink of metal as Tony produced three tins from under her jacket and placed them upon the stone floor. She was still shaking a little, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by him.

He could smell blood, but all blood smelled the same. He couldn't tell if it was just his or hers as well.

'Come 'ere,' he told her.

She looked at him uncertainly, then cautiously made her way over again. Ignoring his own aches and pains, he took a firm grip on her shoulder and slowly turned her around.

'What are you doing?' she asked confused, her hands grabbing at his wrist to balance herself.

'Checking you've not been shot,' he replied, still looking her over as she stumbled one way then the next to stay upright.

'I haven't been shot,' she reassured him, defiantly trying to duck away from him when he didn't release her. Her expression when he then grabbed hold of her with both hands and pulling her up against him again was of outrage, but he felt no anger at such an expression, only passive amusement.

She didn't struggle this time, going limp as a rag-doll against him.

'What am I to you?' she asked quietly. 'Why protect me, I'm no use to you.'

He couldn't reply, if he acted defensively he might frighten her, if he told her the truth he would be admitting weakness.

'I think maybe it's because you were alone before, and being alone kind of sucks coz you haven't got anyone to bounce your thoughts off. No one wants to be alone...' her eyes widened suddenly and she shook her head frantically. 'Sorry, I take that back, I'm just projecting my own thoughts, don't pay any attention to them.'

Croc might have been irritated by such a suggestion in any other situation, a suggestion that he was somehow weaker when he was alone, and he _was_ alone most of the time. But this was her, and he didn't want to scare her. He didn't know how to handle the situation, and since growling and smashing things was not an option like it usually was, he backed out altogether. So he closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall again, hoping to catch his breath again and for the pain to ease.

Moments later though, Tony was moving around again. He startled when he felt the fingertips of one of her delicate little hands pressing down against the side of his neck. She drew back immediately when he glared. He didn't understand what she was trying to do.

'What are you up to?'

'I was trying to check your pulse, no need to get so defensive,' she replied back a little sharply. 'You've been shot, and I thought you were passing out on me. What am I supposed to do if you do?'

'Nothing, there wouldn't be anything you could do,' he replied, it had been a long time since he had last been that badly hurt, it was almost inconceivable in his mind that he would ever be in such a position again. Though secretly he liked the fact that she was worried about him, though he would have never admitted that.

'That's not very reassuring,' she bit her lip and looked him over again, brow creased. The bleeding was slowing, Croc was pretty sure he was going to be fine, but little Tony was obviously not use to such carnage.

There was a niggling pain in his right shoulder, knowing what this meant, he wasted no time in digging his claws into the affected flesh, finding and pulling out the bullet messily. It clinked against the ground when it fell.

She watched him, wide eyed. 'Ouch,' she remarked and looked away, grimacing.

He chuckled. 'You concerned?'

'Of course I'm concerned!' she replied, resting the side of her head over his heart. 'You could have gotten yourself killed...'

'They were going to kill you,' he told her; she was not going to turn this around. 'You got caught. You said you knew what you were doing.'

'Hey, it was just a slip in concentration,' she looked away. 'I ran into them on the way back, wasn't paying attention.'

'If I hadn't found you...' he trailed off, he didn't want to think about it. 'You're not going up there again.'

'I don't plan on going that way again, it lies too close to the Penguin's and Two-Face's,' she told him, dodging his request.

'Tony?' he growled, letting her know he knew what she was doing.

'It's not like I have a choice is it?' she replied sharply. 'If I could I would never set foot in Arkham City again, but I prefer possible death over certain starvation.'

He didn't know what to say to that. He had known it was inevitable anyway, but mentioned so soon after what had just happened, it left him feeling uneasy.

_'_Anyway, I got some stuff for now,' she continued brightly, pointing at the three tins on the ground that she had gathered. 'Hmm, partially frozen tinned macaroni, ooh and what's that? More cold macaroni. I swear they don't give out anything else, it tastes like catfood!'

'Probably is,' he joked, it was hard not to laugh at her horrified expression, he ruffled her hair playfully and was pleasantly amused when she tried to duck away again when she realised he was messing with her. 'Now you don't need to go up again.'

'I've only got three tins,' she replied timidly, her face downcast. 'That's only going to last me two days maximum, though I guess I could stretch it to three.'

'I'll find you something, somehow. You won't need to go up again.'

She only shrugged this time, looking away.

'You sure you'll be alright? We should really find some way to clean those cuts,' she broke the uncomfortable silence.

'I can heal from anything,' he told her defensively.

'What, do you regularly get shot at?' she joked, then perhaps realising her error she faltered. 'Sorry, I didn't mean anything by that. I'm just thinking of how uncomfortable it must be.'

'It isn't a problem,' he told her. 'I've survived worse.'

'You only got shot last week,' she sounded both frustrated and worried. 'If you lose too much blood you'll become anemic, and I honestly don't know if I'd be able to look after you in such a state.'

'Anemic?' the word was familiar, but he had no idea what it meant.

'Erm...you know, when you lose too much blood?' she looked at the wall opposite. 'A low erythrocyte count, it means that not enough oxygen can get transported around your body, and it can be very painful.'

'Were you like, a doctor or something?' he asked her after a pause. He was joking really.

But to his surprise Tony shuddered at this comment, and looked away again.

'No, I'm not a doctor,' she replied, her voice strained. 'Anyway, the important thing now is that you're okay.'

There was some rustling, and she brought out a pack of cards, which he had forgotten about until now. Really? Was not the best time? He found he didn't mind the idea in the slightest.

Before she could even open her mouth though she stopped and frowned, and Croc could immediately see why. Her dip in the water the day before had left the pack of playing cards as a solid mass of mushy paper.

'Damn it,' she cursed as she tried to pry them apart, only to find that the paper fell apart in her hands.

'I'll find you more,' Croc said without thinking when she childishly threw what remained of the cards at the opposite side of the tunnel in frustration. Realising what a sap he sounded, he glanced at her uncertainly but there was no nasty grin or rude comment, just a small soft smile.

'You just rest up, now,' she told him, her soft little form leaning against him. 'I don't want to lose you again.'

'I've survived worse,' he repeated himself, but it wasn't irritation that filled his mind, but confusion at his own thoughts.

It was almost disturbing how such a small insignificant comment from her made him feel on top of the world. During his week's absence at the Penguin's she had missed him, and for that he felt all the more protective of her. His grip on her tightened.

'Ouch, you're squishing me again!'

* * *

When Croc finally got over his strange new need to crush her, and had calmed down enough to rest from his injuries, Clara finally had the time to cast an eye about at the new place.

Their new home was small sloping tunnel that was sealed at one end by rubble, a small rockfall partially blocked the way in - forming a wall of sorts so that the new place was a practically a chamber. It wasn't really much bigger than the last place but Clara wasn't complaining. It was almost like a mini-flat of sorts, and the sense of ownership was surprisingly compelling - she felt defensive of the place already, actively planning how the space should be divided up. She didn't really have any possessions at the moment, but she reckoned with somewhere to store stuff now she could begin collecting right away. Clothing was something she would like to look into, not that anything she might steal or find here would exactly be on the high end of fashion, but it would be a nice change after having worn the same thing for the past month or so.

The only thing that got to her now was that she felt so grimy. What she wouldn't do for a nice warm bubble-bath...

She knew why they had moved, she knew it had been for her benefit, and she was flattered though she also felt a little awkward. How much did he care for her? Why did he care for her? She knew she cared for him, but that was because she still had some of her old heart buried beneath her Arkham skin, Killer Croc however...did she really know the answer?

This close to him, leaning against him, she could hear the steady beating of his heart. As she relaxed against him, she found herself falling into a pleasant daze, rhythmic and alive, it had to be the most comforting sound she had ever heard. So reassuring, so safe, and he was so warm. Warm like a furnace, after the icy cold wind she had traveled through just an hour before. And in this state of mind, it was impossible for her to argue with herself that Croc could possibly be dangerous. She trusted him, in fact right now she didn't think she had ever felt greater devotion to anyone before, maybe it was the desperation of her situation, maybe it was insanity, but in fact she could have easily said that she loved him.

That thought startled her out of her relaxed state.

She immediately pictured herself in a frock and Croc in a bow-and-tie in front of a little house in the countryside, and found it hard to stop herself from laughing at the absurdity of the image. But as her brief bout of hysteria calmed down, she came to look at Croc in a new light, and she knew that she really was more close to playing house than she had realised.

No matter how she looked at it, the fact still stood that she was currently living on her own with a man, and if this had been a real flat in Gotham or anywhere else for that matter, people might have assumed things. Croc might not have looked exactly human, but he was, and this _was_ more or less Gotham city. She suddenly felt quite awkward, she looked up his resting form. His eyes were closed, leaning back against the wall, not asleep but recovering his strength. Was she being perverse by automatically taking an outsider's view on things? An assumption that simply because they were living together it meant that they had some form of carnal relationship. Weren't things a little more complex than that?

Relationship...friendship was a state of a relationship right? It didn't mean anything beyond that.

Their interactions had not exactly always been innocent, especially the first few times when they still didn't know each other and Croc had repeatedly tried to kill her, but they had never lent in _that_ way. Croc had never tried to do anything _untoward_ to her, there had never been the slightest hint of that sort of intention in their interactions. Was this new perversion something that had arisen solely in her mind? Maybe Croc simply had no interest in her in that way, and perhaps she should be grateful. She glanced over herself briefly - her torn clothes, the stains and the rips, her bony arms and scratched up fingers - and felt a wave of sadness as she realised what a mess she probably looked. But she didn't want to impress anyone, right?

She ran her eyes over him. There had never been a pause in time before now when she had had time to think about this sort of thing, too focused on her own turmoil or simply surviving. Despite his less than normal appearance she could appreciate some of his aesthetics traits, the gradient of greens across his back to stomach like the dappling of sunlight through leaves, the symmetry, Clara supposed he had quite a nice build too; broad shoulders and a tapered but strong waist...

Then she slapped herself as she suddenly realised what her mind was up to.

Clara quickly looked away, blushing fiercely, when Croc opened his eyes and looked down at her to see what the sharp noise had been.

Feeling thoroughly confused, Clara went back to watching him, but out of the corner of her eye this time - while she pretended to be more interested in the uneven brick layering of the wall opposite.

Had she gone crazy? This was not the time or place to be thinking such things. If her old self from a year before was here now, she would be shrieking and running in the other direction in horror, but that was not her now. New Clara was a little more tolerant than that.

Even so, the infamous Killer Croc couldn't possibly be boyfriend material.

She couldn't deny it though, upon getting over his rather unique appearance there was something distinctively attractive about the raw primeval power he possessed, his strength, his warmth, his presence. Oh jeez, what had started this string of thought off again? Couldn't she just hit restart?

Clara spent the new few minutes trying to concentrate on anything else until she had wrangled stray thoughts together again.

She wouldn't have called herself well read on Gotham's supervillains, even though she had grown up with their presence as part of the city for many years now; it was a subject that she had preferred not to listen to, finding it easier to deal with the worry by pretending that there wasn't a problem. The Joker was the most theatrical of the lot, he had appeared frequently on TV, she couldn't clearly remember any reports on Croc though other than a short warning some five or six years before when there had been a newsflash about some monstrous cannibal hiding in the sewers. She had still been in school back then, Dereck had already left home and gone to university, she remembered this because it left her as the sole child for her fussy parents to worry over with the increased rates of crime that Gotham had been experiencing that year. It was the year the Batman had first appeared.

She knew Croc was a cannibal or at least practiced the habit occasionally – she had tried to reassure herself that perhaps he had turned to it in desperation out of there being nothing to eat in Arkham City, though she knew he had been labeled a cannibal even before this – and she knew he was a murderer, there was no changing that. She didn't know why he was either of these things, only that he was, though she wasn't foolish enough not to be able to connect some of the dots. His appearance was unmistakably, impossible to hide or disguise, there was no way he would have been able to live a normal life.

And deep down she knew, that even if both of them did escape from Arkham City with their lives, while there was a small possibility that she could return to a normal life, the same could not be said for Croc. People must have labeled him his whole life, and she knew for that for one she was not going to be a part of it. But their two lives would never have overlapped in the normal world.

Beside her, Croc moved as he readjusted his position against the wall. Deciding that for her own sanity, and because she was probably keeping Croc from resting, she decided to do something about the barrenness of their new home.

She tried to get up, standing so that she could step out from his loose grip. He was awake immediately, pulling her closer with both arms and effectively trapping her.

This could have been funny, if only it were not for the fact that he pressed down exactly where he had grabbed her the day before when he had thought she was a snack. She yelped at the unexpected pain.

'It was an accident,' he told her apologetically, uncomfortably squashing her against him even more. It wasn't really his fault, she realised, he was simply so big and strong that it was hard for him to be gentle, she doubted he had had much practice either - not with how she saw him smashing or crushing nearly everything he interacted with.

'I know, I know, it's okay,' she replied quickly. 'Now, could you let me stand?'

He didn't release her at first, staring fixedly away from her, then reluctantly his grip slackened. Croc watched her, not staring, but merely curious as to what she was up to. Even so she found it a little unnerving that she had the sole focus of such a dangerous entity, but she also found it strangely flattering.

'I was thinking maybe I could go collect some of the stuff from the old place you were living in before,' she suggested, chewing on her lip. 'I'd be quick. There was a little table and some pillows I could grab, just while you rest. I'd be right back.'

'No,' he replied grumpily. 'You wouldn't be able to get out of the old place again.'

He had a good point, Clara sank back defeated.

'Well I've got nothing better to do, I'm not sleepy and I can't go out now that it's light.'

His eyes flashed dangerously when she mentioned going outside again.

'I'll get them,' he told her. 'No need for you to go.'

And without any further words he got to his feet and began to leave.

'Hey, where are you going?!' she called after him, not liking the fact that she had been so abruptly abandoned. Croc should have been the one resting, not her! Perhaps it was something psychological on his part that he could never allow himself to show weakness, maybe due to some macho pride thing, though she thought it more likely that it was a result of trauma from his past.

'Gonna get the stuff,' he replied, turning to look back at her briefly. 'Stay here.'

'But you've been shot!'

'Don't care,' was his stubborn reply, and he was gone.

And though it wasn't nearly as cold as it was outside, the temperature must have been in the negatives she reckoned with all the frost she had seen, the place was noticeably colder without Croc. A little irritably, she wrapped her arms around herself, and there she waited, mulling over her confusing thoughts, while trying to remain alert.

Having not had a regular sleeping pattern since she had first been placed in Arkham City was exhausting both mentally and physically, and it meant that she was sleepy most of the time; but perhaps that could change now. If she and Croc were sharing quarters, she could pretty much set up her time schedule as she liked now, the unpredictability of always having to be on the move was gone. She reckoned that it was now about 6 or 7 AM - the sun had just been showing signs of rising on the horizon when she had came down, anywhere else this should have been a time for her to be waking up and going about a normal day. But this was not the way things were in Arkham City.

She dozed off.

...

Lying half-awake some hours later, waiting for Croc to return, her thoughts drifted back to escaping from Arkham city. Distracted by merely staying alive recently, Clara had almost forgotten that this was her ultimate goal. A goal that was still practically impossible. After Croc's reaction the last time she had voiced her wish to escape the facility she didn't even consider proposing the same idea again. Where else could he go? It wasn't like it was exactly easy to hide him outside.

Croc had no interest in leaving...

Despite the new place being empty and free of any signs of the carnage of the hell above, Clara realised that she didn't feel safe being here on her own without Croc present. She had long since learnt that when she was on her own the best way to survive was to always be on the move. The open room might have been relatively snug for Croc, but it was a big open space to her, there was some rubble littered about but nothing big enough for her to hide behind if anyone came along.

As it turned out though, that by 'going to get the stuff from the old place' Croc had meant at another time, or perhaps he had forgotten. He returned empty handed some time later, exhausted and dripping water everywhere, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him from an obviously recent swim then fell back against the wall, breathing deeply, tired from whatever exercise he had just conducted.

She yawned and scooted over to him, seeking warmth and ignoring the bemused looks he was giving her, she also ignored the fact that he now smelt disturbingly like fresh blood - though she could see no fresh injuries on him.

'I feel too exposed,' she commented after a few minutes. He looked at her questioningly. 'I'm talking about this location, I don't feel safe.'

'You want to move elsewhere?' he sounded surprised, almost hurt.

'No, just...there needs to be something that will prevent other people coming in here,' she explained. 'Once you were gone I realised that I was kind of trapped at the dead-end of a tunnel. It wouldn't have been very easy to run away.'

Croc considered this. 'I've got an idea. Not sure if you'll like it.'

Clara shrugged, and joked. 'As long as it doesn't involve me dying, I'm fine with it.'

He tried to playfully shoved at her shoulder, but of course with his strength this instead knocked her over. After quickly helping her up again, he continued as if nothing he had happened.

'I'd want to leave warnings around.'

Oh. Clara couldn't deny that this idea made her uncomfortable, but at the same time it seemed logical. 'You mean like actual skulls and stuff?' she asked timidly.

'Yeah, that kind of thing.'

'I guess that makes sense. But what if they think it was just the results of a gang fight long ago?'

'I'll make sure they know,' Croc said maliciously, but then lowered his tone again. 'Unless you can think of a better way.'

'I could travel with you?' Clara suggested, she already knew it was a poor idea though.

'That's not a good idea,' Croc concluded. 'Best to stay out of my way when I'm out, there are things I need to do.'

_Like kill and eat other people._ Clara's mind unhelpfully suggested, but she knew it wasn't far from the truth, Croc had to eat and she would be kidding herself if she believed he was just eating tinned macaroni as well.

She nodded and got to her feet.

'What time is it?' she asked.

'It was getting dark again when I came back,' he divulged reluctantly.

'Well, I'm going to go out now, so if I see anything useful I'll bring it back down, alright?' she said, pressing one hand to his forearm. 'I'll be right back.'

'But you got food.'

'Only enough for tomorrow, and if I don't find anything tomorrow evening that means I go hungry the day after that,' she was really worried for one moment that he might try to stop her from going, that he might get angry.

But he didn't.

'Don't do anything stupid,' he told her after a moment's silence, sitting up with his arms crossed over his knees. 'I mean it. If thing's look bad, get out of there. I'll take the risks, I can afford to.'

'I survived on my own before, you know,' she raised her eyebrows a little, but leant her weight against his arm, trying to reassure him.

'I've got tough skin,' he replied, running one of her narrow wrists through his fingers. 'You're...fragile.'

He was worried.

'I've done this before, I'll be back in a couple of hours.'

...

She didn't know where she had emerged, but she knew immediately that it wasn't anywhere she knew. It had to be the industrial district, the Joker's territory, but which way was which?

And while she was stumbling around stupidly, looking for the main wall to orientate herself, the locals found her. Worse yet, they found her and she was still wearing the Penguin's mark on both shoulders of her jacket.

But maybe it actually for the better than she still appeared to be of the Penguin's gang, because it meant they did not kill her on the spot, they thought she was spy.

'We'll take him to the Joker, we'll get rewarded big time!' they yelled amongst each other, laughing as they shoved her along at gunpoint.

The Joker was in the steel mill, a twisted building of mortar and metal, like some sort of nightmare, leering lurid faces seemed to grin and smile everywhere she looked. Whether masks or simply just decoration, Clara felt as if the hollow eyes were following her.

They took her straight to the Joker himself.

And she was surprised at what she saw.

It seemed the rumors about him dying were true, for he looked a sick and crumpled man, nothing like the sharp and smiling maniac that had so frequently and infamously appeared on Gotham's news.

He was in a wheelchair in the middle of the room, an IV drip in one arm, and by the Joker's side one of his men had already ran ahead to inform him what was going on.

On the wall behind him there was an open door through which she could see into the next room, where light flashed on the wall irregularly, indicating the presence of a TV. Somewhere nearby she could hear what sounded like a woman crying.

As they came closer, the Joker's pale face split in a sickly grin.

'It's a bird, it's a plane! Ooh!' the clown exclaimed as they came to a stop in front of him. 'Nope, it's just a bird. Harley! I thought you were _supposed_ to be good at housekeeping? Call the exterminator! We have an infestation of penguins here!'

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter also breaks the record for word length for me; briefly considered cutting it in two but decided against it because it doesn't really read separately.

_Response to reviews:_

_Sunnycroc_: Yes, I love concerned Croc too! XD We'll see about Scarecrow though later on, the ironically sad thing is though, that Scarecrow doesn't even know he messed her life up as she is just one of many blank faces of the people he's destroyed over the years. Oh, and sorry if this wasn't clear, but Enrique is actually Officer Sanchez, one of the ten undercover police officers that Gordon sent in to infiltrate the Penguin's gang some time before the beginning of the Arkham City games - as was Elvis (Officer Elvis Jones) and Tom - though I think I only mentioned him once (Sergeant Tom Miller) - which is why their group was nicer than the others. Okay, so hang on. Arkham Knight won't be released for PC? The wiki page (maybe not the best source of knowledge) still says that it will be released on windows microsoft next year. I don't have a PS4 or Xbox 1 :(

On another note I'm a little worried that Scarecrow might want revenge on Croc in the Arkham Knight game (coz Croc broke his leg, blinded him in one eye, and possibly ripped his face off O_o [if you watch the preview you'll notice that when the Scarecrow is speaking his teeth are always visible, possibly equals = no lips, and maybe no nose?], if my obsessive studying of the previews and images of the figurines are anything to go by), I really wish they were releasing the game this year! *whines*.

_fandelivres_: Aww, thank you!

_LurkingLady_: Yes, love the fluff! Though like you said, Croc is still Croc, no matter how much of a sweetie he is to Clara. This is something that will eventually need to be resolved, Clara tolerates his less than socially acceptable habits for now more or less because she has to but her tolerance may begin to wane later on.

_Kit Williams_: I'm glad you're enjoying the story :D

**Quick summary of this chapter:**

Clara is caught briefly by the Penguin's gang again, but Croc manages to rescue her. Things seem to be going well, Croc has found a new residence free of bones and less damp than the last place. Croc eventually heads out to find something for himself to eat, leaving Clara behind to rest on her own. Later on, after he has returned, Clara is getting hungry and sets out to find something to eat above ground. Croc is worried about her leaving but lets her go.

Clara is caught by the Joker's gang and taken to see the crazy clown himself.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note:** The cover-art is just a temporary for now, since I thought it was confusing how my stupid avatar was showing up as the cover before :P

I really want to change the name of this story at some point, the only reason I called it 'Abnormal' was because I literally couldn't think of anything else at the time. XD

* * *

**Chapter 16**

**Mistake**

'We caught him snooping around the back of the steel mill, looked like he was searching for something,' said one of the thugs. 'We think he might be a spy for the Penguin.'

'I swear I ain't part of his gang no more,' Clara defended herself hastily. 'I'll rat on anything you want to know about him. I'm actually on the job market, you see?'

'Seeking work?' the Joker asked, he raised an eyebrow and grinned, then broke into a fit of giggles. 'I've already got a rat in the Penguin's museum, don't need two. Boys, I believe we're currently running low on fuel. And the human body is a form of carbon, so why not throw our little friend here in the furnace? He'll make do until the next shipment arrives.'

They began drag her back out of the room, and Clara knew she needed to act fast. The Joker was insane, he couldn't be bribed or reasoned with rationally... That was it! She had to deal with him irrationally, like a jokester with a sick sense of humor...or someone equally insane. Clara knew she was no good at jokes, but she could tell tales, she had been telling them to herself ever since she had first came to Arkham City to stay sane.

'Once there was a lad who went to the kingdom of Arkham to fight a furious dragon!' she yelled, ignoring the baffled looks of the thugs restraining her. 'A great big dragon with wings like a **bat**!'

For a moment the Joker just stared at her, then a wide grin split his face and he gestured for his men to stop.

'Was the lad's name Joker?' he asked.

'Yes, the lad was called Joker, and he had gone to fight the black dragon of Arkham so that he could become the rightful king,' she had no idea where she was going with this, but anything to stall being thrown in a furnace was good in her mind.

'That story sounds awfully familiar, Mr J-' shouted a woman's voice from the room where the TV screen's light was still flickering upon the wall.

'Quiet, Harley! You're ruining my fun,' the Joker wheezed. 'Carry on, ratty penguin.'

'The dragon hid, but the lad was cleverer and knew all he had to do was wait for his enemy to come too him. In the meantime though, he had to deal with the other residents of Arkham. A two-headed hydra and one eyed cyclops.

'Was the cyclops fat and short?'

'Yes, the cyclops was fat and short,' Clara replied, knowing that she was describing the Penguin. 'And balding.'

The Joker burst out laughing, only for it to quickly develop into a coughing fit. Harley's concerned face appeared around the corner of the door.

'Snookums, the doctors all said you should get your rest,' she said tentatively.

'And where are all those doctors now?' he hissed back, skeletal fingers clutching at his thin chest as his coughing fit abated. 'They're not around anymore are they? Can't have been very good doctors!'

'Of course they weren't Mr J, they were awful,' Harley agreed sincerely.

'Then _shut up_! Laughter is the best medicine after all, and you're draining all the fun out of the room!'

Harley quickly disappeared back behind the door.

'Tell me more,' he rasped demandingly.

'The two-headed hydra could never go far before an argument broke out between his two heads, his men all thought he was loopy, and the fat cyclops was so fat that he didn't walk, he rolled. And the black dragon...' Clara paused a moment, realising that the dragon would have to be Batman, but so mysterious was this superhero vigilante that she couldn't actually think of anything to say about him, let alone mock – so she played on what she had only heard secondhand. '...was very sneaky, and he hid from the lad. Never wanting to confront him directly, he watched and watched, hoping that one day the lad would grow bored and go home.'

'Hah, shows what pointy-nose knows!' cackled the Joker, then sneered over his shoulder as the sound of crying filtered through the open door again. 'Harley!'

'I'm sorry, sweetie,' Harley's make-up was running, and as she stood up Clara finally caught sight of what she watching; _101 dalmatians._ 'It's just the movie is making me think of Bud and Lou!' And she dissolved into tears again.

Clara literally had no idea what the two were talking about. Then she suddenly remembered the two stuffed hyenas that the Penguin had recently acquired into his collection at the museum.

The Joker continued to sneer, then looked at Clara again, glaring. For a moment she held her breath, scared for her life, fearing that she had somehow offended him. But then he burst out laughing.

Choking again, he shakily got to his feet.

'What's your name then?' he asked her, leaning against his wheelchair.

'They call me Tony,' she recited the script she had learnt in Arkham City, not telling her true name but not lying at the same time.

'Well young Tony, I have to say I have heard better tales, but yours was entertaining for what it's worth. But it simply doesn't stand up to par, it's nothing personal, but you see, it's just that we're not hiring writers at this time. So-' Whatever promise of death or torture he had been about to give her, Clara never found out, because at that moment there was a knock at the door and three men walked in.

The two thugs holding Clara pulled her to one side so that the Joker could see his new audience.

'This better be important, today's a busy day for me,' he told them warningly. 'I've got important business to attend to! Party favours to prepare, bombs to plant, unwanted guests to kill.'

'Of course, boss, it's just that word got back that the Penguin's turned smart on us,' said one. The three were out of breath and Clara could see snow on their clothes, they'd been running.

'Oh, and why's that?' the Joker snarled questioningly at them. 'What's old bird-brain done now?'

'Well, actually this is about the snitch, sir. This is the second night running that he didn't show.'

'We think he may have gone dark on us, sir,' said another. 'It's not like he can't contact us. But his comm has been off since yesterday, nothing but static.'

'Though word on the street is that Frankie the snitch has been wasted,' spoke another of the three. 'We didn't see a body, but all of the Penguin's men are crowing about some guy they just offed. Saying that he was one of ours.'

'Ooh, it looks like there might be a job opening after all,' the Joker grinned at Clara. 'How about-'

He was interrupted by another knock on the door and several more people making their way in.

'Oh for the love of-' he suppressed a growl, the newcomers tripping over their feet in fear as they realised they had angered him. 'Is this a surprise party?! What is it now?!'

'The schematics you ordered, sir,' said one of them nervously. 'You asked for them.'

For a moment the Joker regarded the newcomers sourly, then nodded and he looked over his shoulder again. 'Hey, Harley? Could you be a dear and come in here a moment?'

'Coming, Mr J,' replied Harley's sickly sweet voice. Unabashedly the woman walked into the room, her make-up smeared, but with such confidence Clara immediately recognised her rank. This was Harley Quinn, second-in-command, crazy as the Joker himself.

'Harley, dear, you see this scrappy pup here?' he gestured to Clara.

'Sure do, Mr J.'

'Well I need to have a word with him later, he might be auditioning for the part of the new snitch, you know?' the Joker choked briefly. 'Just make sure the others don't smear him into the ground in the meantime.'

...

Harley was surprisingly cheery up at being given something to dote over. Perhaps it was because she was still mourning the loss of her pet hyenas, and the fact that she couldn't see the Joker at this time, that she decided that Clara would have to do as a sort of substitute in the mean time.

'You're just a young boy, aren't you?' she crooned, putting away the pot of white paint she had just used. 'I'm going to have a baby one day, you know? You're not a baby, but you're young. Do you think I'll be a good mother?'

'You'll be a great mother,' Clara replied, forcing herself to smile.

'Aww, you're such a sweetie,' Harley had pot of purple powdered paint and was now vigorously rubbing it into Clara's short hair. 'I bet you were a right mama's boy before you got put in Arkham city, I can just see it in your face.'

Clara looked into the mirror in front of her as Harley colored her hair purple. Her face was a solid white now thanks to the face paint Harley had provided, it was a thick oily substance that smelt acrid and probably would have normally been used on walls but she wasn't about to dare complain. She almost looked the part, except for the two glaring white symbols on her jacket of penguins - Clara knew they would make her a walking target here, Harley was apparently oblivious to this and Clara didn't dare point it out.

'You'll fit right in,' said Harley, admiring her handiwork. 'I'll find you a mask too, but you probably won't need it. Horribly clunky things, masks are. That's why me and Mr J don't wear them.'

'Thank you, Miss Quinn,' Clara knew she had to get away as soon as possible, this was not like the incident with when she had first been brought into the Penguin's gang. The people the Joker hired were different than the Penguin's, she had seen it in their eyes. They were not mercenaries or trained criminals but rabid dogs, seeking any way to survive.

And she was easy prey, no matter how much Harley liked the look of her new style. And even if they didn't hurt her now, they might well do later - and that was only if the Joker decided that he wanted her a replacement snitch (in which case it would probably be someone from the Penguin's gang shooting her because they certainly wouldn't want her back now).

'Ooh, how polite,' Harley cooed. 'It's going to be _Mrs_ J soon, me and my sweet pudding are going to get married! Isn't that swell?'

'Will the wedding be in Arkham City?' she asked, knowing that she had to keep the conversation flowing smoothly. Who knew what Harley might do if she thought Clara was judging her. She had yet to see it for herself, but she had heard stories about Harley's mood having the tendency to flip dangerously at the slightest provocation - the Joker's doting nurse one moment to a homicidal maniac in seconds.

'Gee, well of course,' Harley tilted her head to one side, grinning at Clara's assumed stupidity. 'This is Mr J's kingdom now, it would only be right for me to be crowned queen here. But I mean if I really wanted it could be elsewhere. Mr J is so clever, he would know how to get us out if he wanted to, like maybe through the docks. That's how me and Mr J got in here in the first place, you know? Just the two of us on a speedboat, it was such a romantic night.'

'Aren't the docks mined?' Clara asked, this was a question she had wanted answered for weeks now.

'Well actually, not at all, at least back then but they're watched all the time now,' Harley said, cheerful that she knew more about the subject than Clara did. 'Mr J sent some guys down there the other day to see if they could sneak out and establish a trade route into the city, but they got picked off by the TYGER guards as soon as they set down their boat in the water. The only way anyone would get out is if they went underwater, but they'd have own a submarine or be a like a really good swimmer to do that.'

And like that Clara realised she now knew the way out.

* * *

Why did he care for her, he asked himself over and over. Wouldn't it have been a safer option to simply get rid of her, pretend she had never existed? He wouldn't even have to hurt her, he could just chase her away and forget about her. His mind balked at the idea of losing her though. She was the first thing in his life in a long time that had meant something, a reason to live other than for himself.

Croc pulled himself up out of the water with one arm, the other held an old deck-chair and some tattered blankets he had gathered for her. It was all rubbish as far as he was concerned, he didn't need any of it, but he knew it was what she wanted and that was good enough reason to bring it back for him.

For a moment he paused, listening and taking in lungfuls of air. Once he was satisfied no one was around, he continued on his way back to his new hideout.

He had stumbled across a large abandoned train station, where he proceeded to have a look around there. In the end he hadn't gone to get anything from the old place. She deserved better than the old stuff he had in that place, it was all covered in blood stains and grime anyway. He carried the new stuff back to her, hoping it would suffice, but what he had really been after a mattress or something for her to sleep on, but those were not easy to come by as he had first thought.

To his disappointment though, he found the place empty and cold. She still hadn't returned.

No big deal, she could be gone for hours still, he told himself.

Croc set about throwing the stuff he had gathered around the room in an orderly manner as he could imagine, hoping that the blankets and deck-chair would dry out from the swim he had taken to get back rather than rot where he left them. After that he stared for a while, trying to figure out how he could improve the place, but upon realising that rubbish was always rubbish no matter what he did with it - and he had no idea what to do with it anyway - he sat down and waited.

He tried to relax, make a plan. Croc hadn't eaten that night and he knew he should be planning around this. He needed to set out again, find something to eat, come back later, the usual sort of plan. But even basic thought soon proved impossible, he simply couldn't concentrate.

It was hard for him not to picture her wounded and dying somewhere. He knew that if she did disappear here he might well never find out what had happened to her, erased from reality like a dream.

It had only been a few hours since she had set off, she had plenty of time to return, but he was restless. He kept remembering the night before, when she had had a gun pressed to her head, and he had felt so helpless, so pathetic and weak because there was simply nothing he could have do to save her while she was being held hostage.

He knew he didn't actually know really anything about her other than that she had been Arkham Asylum the year before on the night of the breakout. Why she had been there was still a mystery to him, she could have been staff, a patient, a visitor, or for all he knew she could have lied to him and never been on the island in the first place. Perhaps he shouldn't have let himself get so attached, maybe he was just a method of surviving for her, but she was different than anyone he had met in a long time. She didn't scream at him, didn't frown in disgust at his appearance, heck, she sought him out in Arkham City because she wanted to be near him. What sort of crazy chick did that?

She had never asked him directly about what had happened back at the Penguin's the night he had been forced to leave, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that she was trying to pretend that it hadn't happened. While she wasn't necessarily scared of him any longer, he knew she was still scared of the danger he could pose - the image of her scrambling to get away from him the day before when he had rescued her was painfully seared into his mind's eye. He wouldn't scare her again.

Croc looked up eagerly when he heard the distant clatter of stones. He listened intently for the sound of footsteps. But it became all too clear to him soon enough that the sound was just the crumbling of the ancient brickwork.

There was no one there, she still wasn't back.

Making his mind up, he got to his feet.

He would go out to look for her, he decided, and he would get food for her, so that she wouldn't need to go up again any time soon. The food drops the staff gave this facility were a joke, there wasn't possibly enough food to go around, and even if there was it was all being jealously hoarded by the big three. How was he supposed to get anything substantial for her? The Joker's men were the most likely to have something edible in their pockets, if he could get one of them. Or maybe he could raid a storeroom.

For one moment, he allowed himself to imagine her returning tired and exhausted, but then he would offer new gifts: clothing, food and whatever he could scavenge. Her face would light up with a smile, she would be so happy, and then maybe she would never want to leave.

He would not lose her the way he had always lost everyone else that had ever mattered to him. He was stronger now.

Croc promised himself that he would never let any harm come to her.

...

Initially he had tried to track her the way he had done before, but found that half way along the route she took a narrow tunnel that he couldn't possibly have gone through, and he had had to head back again. So he put into motion the second part of his plan, finding something for himself to eat and then find food for her as well.

Croc did not have to go far.

The Joker's men swarmed like rats. There was so many of them cramped into one small area of the city, all of them ridiculously loud and raucous - easy to find, easy prey, but they were also all armed to the teeth and he knew he had to be cautious.

He stayed below water, watching and waiting, below a bridge, for an opportunity, because he knew sooner or later someone would have to use it to get out. Croc didn't have to wait long, he saw the indistinct shapes of the Joker's thugs passing overhead.

It was too easy, he didn't even have to follow them, they stopped directly above him. For a while he made no move, sizing up the situation. The bridge was high and he would have to swipe and grab a victim first try because he wouldn't get a second chance once they knew he was there.

How convenient it was to him, when one of the little idiots trotted right over to the edge of the bridge. He could see the white mask on their face flickering through the water.

They didn't move, staring into the water, and it appeared they had caught sight of him, or at the very least were suspicious that there was something below the surface. It was now or never.

He attacked without a second thought.

There was yelling and gunshots as he leapt from the water, but the figure he was after strangely made no move to run.

It was only when they had fallen back into the water that his prey began to struggle frantically, clawing at him with blunt fingers, kicking to get back to the surface. The water frothing around them.

And then, just for one moment, one of the victim's feet landed a solid blow directly over where he had been shot the day before.

Croc let go, and the figure managed to surface again, but he wasn't going to give up so easily.

He caught his prey by the ankle without having to surface himself, pulling them back under water while they thrashed and yelled.

And when they tried to kick him again, he sunk his teeth deep into one of their legs.

Croc might have finished his victim off then and there if it were not for the fact that the Joker's crew above decided it was good time to start lobbing grenades into the water. They couldn't see him through the dark waters, they missed him completely, but he still felt the pressure wave go over him - if it had been much closer it might have stunned him.

He swam back the way he had came, dragging his now unmoving prey with him.

He didn't spend long under water, surfacing as soon as he was out of the Joker's gang's line of sight. He climbed up onto dry ground to see his prize, hoping that perhaps there was something he could salvage from the body for Tony before he sated his hunger. Maybe clothing, or-

It was only then he got a good look at who he had caught.

The world seemed to grind to a halt, he felt as if he was falling head first off a cliff.

Collapsing to his knees, he found he couldn't breathe. In the struggle before, his victim's mask had been knocked off. Her face was painted beneath, but even then he instantly recognised her. It was Tony, her frail body hanging limply in his hands like a rag-doll.

This was all horrifyingly familiar to him, except this time, he had no one to blame but himself.

* * *

**A/N:** I like to think there was foreshadowing to this event, with how Croc nearly attacked her before and how Clara has previously mentioned a few times that Croc could easily hurt her without even meaning to.

Don't worry this is not the end.

On a slightly brighter but random note, I thought I'd share an old story fact with you guys:

I originally had this stupid idea (in the **very early** stages of drafting this story) that Clara's manner of dealing with the stress of living in Arkham City was that she viewed the world in a rather warped/schizophrenic way (she was more delusional and insane in that version), she would write down what was happening to her every so often in a note book, summarizing the day's events like a fairy tale. She wrote Killer Croc as a dragon, the Penguin was a cyclops, Two-Face was a hydra etc, and she herself was an adventure/hero called Dereck (because she had this freaky idea in her head that she undo her brother's death by living on as him, all because she believed that if she had never been born then Dereck would still be around) - needless to say I also completely removed this idea very early on because it was so weird and strange that I knew it simply wouldn't work as a story.

Really hoping that Croc didn't come off as too sentimental in this chapter. My excuse is that he is currently in an isolated environment (below ground and alone) and doesn't feel threatened enough to be acting aggressively as he normally does.

_Response to reviews:_

_Sunnycroc - I presume that's you, you're labelled 'Guest':_ So glad that you're enjoying the story :) On another note, Enrique is never actually named in the game, he's just called Officer Sanchez, I pulled the name Enrique out of thin air (I didn't know there was already an Enrique in the batman universe, I really need to watch the old show again!).

_Kit Williams:_ Thanks ^_^

**Quick summary of this chapter:**

Clara is able to convince the Joker to spare her by amusing him with some stupid twisted tale based around the clown himself. A bit later on Harley inadvertently tells Clara the only way out of Arkham city is through Gotham bay, but the guards would either have to be distracted or the escapee under water.

Meanwhile Croc begins to grow worried that Clara still hasn't returned. He sets out to find her. Unable to follow her trail through a narrow route she has taken, he sets out to find himself something to eat. The Joker's territory seems like an obvious choice, he heads there immediately and snatches some poor unfortunate individual. Only then he finds out that the person he has attacked is none other than Clara.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

**Ponder**

There was a pressure pushing on her torso from above, crushing her stomach painfully.

She coughed, choked and suddenly found a lot of water leaving her lungs. The pressure upon her was removed as soon as she began she spluttered, as she tried to regain her breath.

Fear still coursing through her veins, she instinctively she kicked out, trying to stand so that she didn't feel so vulnerable. As soon as she moved a crippling pain in her right leg flared, so much that it made it impossible for her to focus on anything else. A large hand pressed down upon her chest and stilled her.

Clara tried to say something back, but all that came out was a shaky whimper.Clara panicked, scratching and scrabbling frantically at the hand that held her down, but they were so strong and she felt so horribly weak. Her heartbeat was racing, all that she could see right now in her mind's eye were crushing clawed hands and pointed teeth. She felt the need to escape, to run, to get away! Hide some place dark where no one would find her. That was how she had survived so far!

It wasn't exactly like she could run away now - she doubted she could even walk now.

'It's me,' Croc's voice said from somewhere above her, confirming who it was. But this didn't make her feel any calmer in this situation.

He had nearly killed her!

How was she supposed to feel now?!

It must have been an accident, she repeated in to herself in her head, Croc would not have intentionally tried to kill her, right? But no matter how many times she repeated this to herself she couldn't deny the fact that he nearly had, and she remembered the fear of his attack only too vividly.

_'Icy cold, she couldn't breath and she couldn't see Croc; he was just a hulking faceless shadow in the water. Like a great weight, he effortlessly pulled her deeper and she was powerless to escape. She struggled nonetheless, her lungs screaming at her to take a breath. "Get off me! Get off! Get off! Get off!" she wanted to shriek, but there was no way for her to say anything under water. When agony tore through right leg, she couldn't at first believe that he had bitten her. She had forgotten who he was, and he had not realised who she was, and she thought of how ironic it was that she would die at the very hands of the one she thought might be able to save her...'_

She could feel herself shivering, felt nauseous. She was so frightened, but too exhausted to be afraid. How many times had she come close to dying in the past few months now? Way too many times. This was nothing new, she tried to reassure herself. Only she knew there was one key difference between now and before; this time she had not escaped the event unscathed.

A large hand briefly touched her chin, and then moved to support her legs as she was picked up off the ground.

She yelled when her right leg was knocked. It felt as if a thousand white-hot needles had been pushed into her thigh all at once. Her pulse raced in her ears and her fingers scratched at Croc's scales, there was nothing outside her little world of pain in that moment. Croc said something to her, but she couldn't focus enough to understand what he was saying.

...

The ground was hard, but she was aware she was lying on something relatively soft but thin. A blanket? Since when had they had a blanket down here? Clara was finding it hard to focus, but she knew they had to be back at the hideout. Everything right now was about the inescapable pain in her leg, no where to run or to stop it. The best she could do was not move at all, and even that was agony.

Croc was crouched on his knees beside her, he seemed at a loss at what to do.

'Croc?' she asked, and was surprised at how hoarse she sounded.

'Right here,' he replied, voice much softer than she had ever heard before. 'I'm right here, don't you worry.'

She hadn't forgotten the cause of her pain, tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

'You bit me...'

'I didn't mean to,' his gaze fixed on her chin rather than look her in the eyes. 'You're still alive,' he almost sounded as if he couldn't believe it.

Her strength was sapped, she had used it all in her struggle, her arms fell back against her sides. She looked up at the ceiling, trying to hold back her tears.

'How bad is it?' she asked weakly.

Croc snarled in frustration, but whether it was at himself or her weakness she wasn't sure.

'You're not dead,' he told her, still not meeting her gaze. 'The bleeding's slowing.'

She closed her eyes, expecting the worst: 'Do I still have both legs?'

'I didn't bite it off if that's what you're thinking,' Croc rumbled in concern, he looked down towards her injured leg. 'But it's pretty screwed up.'

Clara wanted to get up to have a look for herself, but knew that right at that moment she did not have the strength to sit up on her own.

'Let me see,' she begged. 'I need to see.'

'I don't want you to see,' he actually glared at her, as if trying to intimidate her into leaving the matter alone.

'I need to see,' she continued weakly. 'You can't just pretend nothing has happened.'

'Don't you think I know that?!' he growled fiercely, then immediately shook his head and let out a frustrated growl, looking away from her. 'I can't help you. I don't know how...' he tapered off.

'I _need _to see for myself, so help me up,' she demanded a little more forcibly.

This time Croc complied without a word, gently easing one hand beneath her shoulders and helping her raise the upper part of her body off the ground.

She tried to look at her injured leg but couldn't see much, this was because blood had already stained and colored her trouser leg and made it impossible for her to tell where the material ended and where the wound began. The blanket below her was already stained in several places with dark red, she couldn't see it but she knew her leg had to be cut open quite badly, she'd be lucky if she didn't bleed to death.

'Oh, jeez,' she whimpered, and Croc lowered her back down again.

'I thought you were one of the Joker's goons,' he said, helplessly gesturing to the ground above them. 'You were just standing there, not running, I should have known.'

'You need to get me boiled water, or antiseptics, or something,' she babbled, more focused on resolving the problem immediately rather than reassuring Croc. 'If you don't I'll probably go into toxic shock, or get septicemia.'

'Septa-what?' he questioned, unfamiliar with the word.

'Blood poisoning,' she choked. 'I need something to clean the injury, if it's deep it could turn nasty very quickly.'

'I haven't got any medicine,' he growled. 'And where would I get boiled water? You think I got a furnace in here?'

She whimpered, and turned away from him. 'I don't want to die...'

'You're not going to,' he promised savagely. 'I'm here, I'll keep you warm, I'll protect you. I'll get you anything you need.'

'Bandages, I need bandages,' she said after a moment; medication might be out of the question but it was easily possible to improvise with bandages. 'You got anything you could tear up?'

Croc disappeared to the other side of the tunnel for a moment, then returned with a blanket much like the one she was already on. He tore it up into long shreds effortlessly, but once he was done he didn't move to proceed, looking uncertainly between the material and her wounded leg.

'Please, you got to act fast,' she told him. 'No skill required, just bind my leg, apply pressure to stop the bleeding.'

'If I touch your leg I'll hurt you,' he informed her.

'If you don't I'll die, please Croc, help me,' she begged him. 'I can't do it by myself.'

He listened to, gently grasping her leg by the ankle and raising it off the ground so that he could wrap the bandage around it. The bindings went straight over her trouser leg at her instruction, Clara knew that the worse thing to do with a wound site was to pull off the material - it would only damage what had scabbed over already. She ground her teeth and pushed her head back against the wall as he worked, it hurt but she wasn't going to make any further noise.

'Done,' he told her a few minutes later, but what felt like hours to her.

'Thanks,' she told him. She could hear him shuffling beside her, the rough worn material of his trousers rasping against brick as he tried to make himself comfortable.

'I didn't mean to hurt you,' he told her quietly.

'It was a mistake, I know,' she replied, trying her hardest not to remember the terror she had felt at being dragged screaming below water.

'You're just saying that coz you're scared of me,' he continued quietly. 'It's all my fault.'

She could hear the hurt in his voice, and reached out until her hand found his.

'I was terrified, I won't lie, but heck, you probably ended up saving my life. The Joker's crew caught me just after I got above ground, I'm really lucky that they didn't just kill me on the spot. Turned out the Joker was looking for a spy to put within the Penguin's gang, I pretended to agree but there is no way that the Penguin's gang would have taken me back now, they would have shot me on sight.'

'This place ain't safe,' Croc agreed, running his claws down her arm. Clara noticed he seemed to relish the contact. 'It won't happen again, you need to stay here.'

'I don't think that'll be a problem now,' she told him, wincing as she moved her leg, trying to shuffle over for more warmth.

'...' Croc didn't reply to that, Clara realised only too late that she had just messed up.

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean-'

'It's true, though, ain't nothing to lie about there,' he replied sadly. 'You can't walk and yeh can't even look after yourself now…'

* * *

She was so fragile, like a little bird. What the heck was he supposed to do now?

The event vaguely reminded him of a long since forgotten day many years before, back in the days when he had been scared of everything and his aunt had towered over him. His aunt's cat, a horrible scruffy thing with a squashed in face and too little fur, had brought in a dying bird; which it batted it around in the empty stained kitchen for a while before it lost interest and stalked away. Back in those days, Croc had rarely if ever been allowed outdoors, and upon finding the small thing from the outside world, he had been fascinated.

He could still remember the thrill of gathering the tiny feathery body in his hands and thinking that perhaps he could keep it.

Only of course, fate was never so kind to him.

The mauled bird died less than an hour later. And when his aunt found him crouched on the kitchen floor with the dead animal in his hands, she had screamed at him, told him he was filthy, and later that afternoon she discarded the dead bird with the trash.

Like back then, he had no idea how to care for the injured individual. How was he supposed to look after her now? The helplessness he felt was nearly unbearable.

And this time the only person to blame was him.

She might say otherwise, but he already knew the answer, everyone lied to get what they wanted, but was what she wanted in this case for him to be alright with his screw-up?

'Do you have a family?' she asked softly.

The question surprised him.

He was silent for a while, but then he conceded, deciding that the question wasn't an insult. He knew she had to know that he had no one, but then again the question could be honestly innocent. What was stopping him telling her something so unimportant, it wasn't like she was an enemy? He still found himself hesitating.

'I had something close to a family once, but they're all dead or gone now. Ain't ever going to see them again.'

'I'm sorry,' she said quietly. 'I can sort of relate to that.'

'How?' he asked a little irritably, assuming that she was trivializing his loss.

'Because I lost part of my family too, that's why I'm in here,' she said even more quietly, barely above a whisper.

'I thought you were in here coz Scarecrow gassed you?'

'I am,' she paused unwilling to continue, he waited patiently and eventually she spoke. 'My brother worked as Arkham Asylum, he was one of the people in charge of assessing new patients upon arrival,' she smiled sadly. 'Why would anyone voluntarily choose to work at a place like Arkham?'

'The money?' Croc suggested, he couldn't think of any other reason.

'Possibly,' Clara shrugged. 'They hired him and promoted him almost immediately despite the fact that he was still quite new to the job; I think they were desperate for employees. He was just 26, he'd only graduated a few years before, most of his co-workers were pushing into their 50s or 60s. I don't think he saw how desperate they were for him to work there. Anyway, long story short, he was there the night of the breakout last year. I heard that Scarecrow was in the medical facility at the time, somehow he broke out during the riot, and went on his merry way gassing everyone in his path. My brother was one of them, he normally wouldn't have even been working in the medical facility, he had an office over in Intensive Treatment, but...'

Her breath hitched and she shook her head, looking away from him, raising one hand to cover her face.

'Someone got to him while he was under the gas,' Croc assumed.

She nodded stiffly, still hiding her face.

'...it was me,' she told him, her voice suddenly devoid of any emotion. 'I was in the medical facility too, the very same room. I got my hands on a fire axe that someone had dropped when they were trying to breakout. I couldn't think or see straight while I was so terrified, everything was...well, you said you experienced the Scarecrow's fear gas first hand, didn't you?'

'Yeah,' he was not going to recall those memories.

'I guess looking at it from an outsider's perspective, none of it was really my fault, but no matter what I tell myself, there will always be this little inkling in the back of my mind that I could have done something different.'

There was a silence after this. Realising how vulnerable she must have felt, Croc decided to take the topic away from her.

'I used to work in a circus, you know?' he told her softly. 'And my colleagues were the closest I'd ever had to a proper family, and there was nothing more valuable to me than their lives.'

Beside him, she move slightly tilting her head to one side to listen.

'We had all sorts visit us, but most who attended the shows were there just for a cheap laugh rather than the talent of any of the performers. Some of them were a really nasty bunch, who got a real kick out of putting others down, and one day some nasty little bastards decided it would be really funny to corner this little blind girl who worked at the carnival. They shoved her around, jeered, they would have probably killed her if I hadn't stepped in, the police got involved and the filthy rats were taken away. But a few evenings later they came back.'

He remembered that night all too well. The suffocating scent of burning, and the deathly silence in the aftermath; no outside help had turned up for ages afterwards, and there had been no screams because no one had survived.

'You know the ferris wheel, the merry-go-round, the rides? Now, they were all powered by gasoline generators. Very flammable stuff. When they set fire to the tents, it spread to the generators. There was nothing anyone could do to stop it then, one moment I was trying to help put the fire out, then the next I'm in searing pain, lying in the harbor and all around me I can smell burning. I already know everyone else is dead, but I didn't want to believe it...it couldn't have happened was all I kept thinking.'

'Were the culprits arrested?' she asked tentatively.

'No, there wasn't enough evidence. The whole thing was listed as an accident, but it left me homeless, jobless...and the others all lifeless. And the filthy little rats had gotten away with it!'

'People like that never get far in life, I'm sure they suffered further down the road after they did what they did,' she tried to reassure him.

'Oh they suffered, I made sure of that.' Croc growled furiously. 'It was the first thing I did. I had _nothing_ left!'

Clara cried out as his grip tightened too much. He quickly slackened his grip again upon realising what he was doing. 'But that doesn't matter now, it's already happened, happened years ago. I got you now, and I ain't gonna lose you too.'

* * *

The next day passed in a blur, in which she drifted in and out of sleep uneasily, reminding herself each time she woke that she had to rest if she was to have any chance of recovering, but each time she awoke she felt more uncomfortable. She felt too warm, and she began to worry that she was developing a fever. Time seemed to speed up and slow down at random.

She felt exhausted, even as she began to awaken again she wanted to remain asleep, so she tossed and turned, trying to make herself more comfortable, only to cry out in pain as the injury on her right leg would flare up again.

Croc was very attentive though, he was talking more than usual she noticed, perhaps it was to make up for the fact that she was talking far less.

When she began to shiver from the cold, he lay down beside her and gently as possible pulled her against him to share his warmth - and he was very warm. She could relax against him, listening to and feeling his breathing, not alone, not alone...

But Croc had to head out again.

'Take me with you,' she raised one weak hand towards him, and he took it in his own.

'I can't, you'll get hurt,' he told her. 'I'll block up the tunnel when I go, no one will be able to reach you until I get back.'

'I know I'm not going to live, so please just listen to what I have to say,' she said abruptly. 'I don't blame you, okay? It's not your fault, it's the stupid people who shoved everyone in here. If you ever grow sick of this place, the harbor is the way out. It's watched by the guards but it's not mined. If you keep deep under water, they won't ever know you're there.'

He fell silent at that. But he wasn't angry at her, he remained crouched beside her for a while longer, seemingly unable to tear himself away before he finally gave in and left. She heard the grinding of rocks as he moved to blockade the route. Alone and scared once more, it took all her remaining strength not to cry.

Her leg throbbed dully, threatening to strike her with bolts of pain if she so much as twitched.

She looked up towards the cracked damp ceiling and frowned. Freaking wonderful, she thought sarcastically to herself, this was what she had always feared would happen; dying alone, injured, in Arkham City. She clung to her anger as long as she could, because she knew that if she let go she would fall further into despair.

...

Croc returned hours later, but it could have been years for all she knew, with a red splattered crate under one arm and new scars upon his skin, most surprisingly of all was the presence of a radio balanced atop of the crate. Clara remembered this quite lucidly, wondering where on Earth he had found such a thing.

'Got enough food to last you weeks,' he told her proudly. 'Don't know why I didn't think of this before.'

She smiled in appreciation but felt too weak to do much else. Her gaze wandered to the radio, Croc noticed.

'...got this for you,' he said uncomfortably. 'It was just lying around, I'll get rid of it if you don't want it.'

'No,' she told him, grinning despite herself. 'Thank you. Does it have a signal?'

'It should do,' Croc put the crate to one side and sat down beside her.

There was a buzz of static as he experimentally turned the dial, before the radio sparked to life: _"-Bruce Wayne continues his open campaign against Arkham City despite repeated requests by the mayor and council office to step down. Reports are coming in that he has now booked a stadium for the seminar tomorrow in which he will present his opening speech on his opposition against the facility. Mayor Sharp has so far refused to comment on this new development. As you may know, Wayne Enterprises has been sponsoring-"_

'Someone on the outside actually wants to close this place down,' Clara smiled, happy at the information, after all this time she had began to think that everyone outside had just been waiting with baited breath for everyone in the facility to die off. 'Bruce Wayne is a big name too. Isn't he like a millionaire or something? People are bound to listen to him.'

Croc shrugged. 'Rich bastard must be up to something.'

'I'd like to think that someone outside actually cares about the stupidity that is Arkham City,' she replied innocently; he immediately gave her a look that indicated he thought she was naive, but she ignored it.

Clara shifted a little, pushing herself up the curved tunnel wall so as to prop herself up. Her throat felt like sandpaper.

'I'm really thirsty,' she told Croc.

He wasted no time in heading out again. Leaving her alone once more.

A few minutes passed, and Clara was able to wrangle her thoughts together enough to decide she could check on herself without Croc present worrying over her. She would deny the reality that she was horribly injured, and be strong.

Wanting to get a better look at his job bandaging her leg - and maybe wanting to prove to herself that she wasn't permanently crippled by her injury - she sat up abruptly, pushing herself up off the wall.

Immediately her vision became unnaturally bright, colors seemed to be turning white before her eyes. Nausea gripped at her. Realising she had made a mistake was the last thing on her mind before she passed out.

* * *

Croc had brought with him a bucket of snow, it was still melting and was chillingly cold, but he was sure it would be safer to drink than anything else he could get at this time.

He found her slumped motionless when he got back. At first he thought she was sleeping, but found to his alarm that she wouldn't wake up when he spoke to her. There was the smell of blood as well, and immediately he realised the wound had been reopened; she must have tried to move.

'Come on, you gotta wake up again,' he cursed over and over again in his head, as he struggled to think of something that he could do to help her.

Eventually she began to stir again, opening her eyes and looking up at him. For a moment she looked up at him uncertainly as she tried to focus, then her eyes teared up and she looked away from him, her breath stuttering as she breathed in deeply.

'I passed out, didn't I?' she asked once, then without warning began to cry.

This alarmed Croc more than anything else. He literally had no idea how to deal with this sort of situation, but it was painful for him to witness; he knew why she was crying, she was terrified of dying.

'Please, don't cry,' he pleaded.

'I'm sorry, but I don't feel so well,' she told him. She had gone unnaturally pale, she was shivering again though she felt anything but cold to him.

Croc was helpless to watch her, he had no idea what to do.

'What do you need?' he asked her.

'It's okay, I'm just tired,' she shook her head at him. 'Let me rest, maybe that's all I need.' But her voice was shaking, she didn't even believe it herself.

What was wrong with her? Had she lost too much blood? Was she ill? Was it both? Croc had no way of helping either situation, she needed medicine, but where the heck was he going to get anything like that?

He ground his teeth and thought desperately. Maybe he could make a trade with someone within the facility. That wouldn't be any of the regulars, such privileges as medication would lie only with the likes of the crime bosses. The Joker, the Penguin and Two-Face.

The Joker and the Penguin were out of the question, there was no way he was going anywhere near either those two again; he had fallen out of favor with the Joker long ago after the crazy clown had made one too many jokes about leather shoes and wallets. That left Two-Face, someone who he was not altogether familiar with, but if rumors were to be believed the man was desperately seeking hired help - and that also would help with the second problem, the fact that he had nothing to trade with but himself.

It was then he remembered the rumored medical facility in the church to the east of Two-Face's turf. The place was supposed to offer minimal medical care to all those who needed it, and quite honestly sounded too good to be true. He knew that most stayed well clear of the place out of suspicion, and those that attacked in hope of raiding the place had returned defeated and often wounded. But he would have to try.

The alternative, if he were to work for Two-Face, would mean that he would have to leave Tony down here, no way he would leave her crippled up top. It would be his last resort to go there.

'I'll find you medicine, I'll find you something,' he promised, and then he had to leave her again.

...

He knew where he was heading, the so called medical center was supposed to have limited supplies for sick inmates, he had never been there, but he would risk it though he was well aware they would likely begin to shoot at him before he could even say anything.

And in a way he wasn't far from right. Normally it would have made his blood boil when he smelt that the guard Cash was nearby, but right now he couldn't care less.

The medical center was located in a barricaded church.

At first they locked themselves away and wouldn't even look out. When he thumped upon the door and threatened to break it down, they changed their minds.

Several bullet proof shutters above the door opened and guards looked out, guns raised to eye-level. A nervous medic peering out from between them.

'Get lost, Croc! You won't find no easy snacks here!' Cash shouted down at him.

'I'm here to see a doc,' he growled back.

'Yeah, I'm sure you are,' the guard shouted back sarcastically.

'Mr Cash, please, we are here to help all inmates who need it,' the medic spoke up, though she looked as if she wasn't completely in agreement herself; sneering down at him fearfully.

'Sorry, doc, but have you seen this freak? This monster don't need no medication, except maybe some powerful tranquilizers.'

'It's not for me!' he roared back. 'I need medicine…' but that was all he knew, never before had he needed to ask for medication, never before had he cared to listen or learn about such stuff, so he was stuck. 'Bandages and crap like that!'

'Ah, he just wants to sell the stuff, don't give him anything,' Cash said irritably before the medic could say anything.

'It's not for me!' he tried again, he really didn't want to have to discuss this but it didn't look like he had a choice. 'It's for this girl.'

'Oh, that's a good one, now I know he's messing with us!'

'Her leg's screwed up and she's dying, I need medicine!' he growled again. 'Give it or I'll come up there and rip you to pieces!'

'Yeah, you try that and I'm putting both your eyes out,' warned Cash.

The medic had vanished from the window, Croc felt like he was getting no where.

'I need medicine, I need it now!'

Just then one of the shutters was rolled up and the medic appeared again, she threw down a small package.

'There's some bandages,' shouted down the nervous medic. 'Take them and leave.'

'I need medicine!'

This was not good enough! Croc had learnt that the best way to get people to do what he wanted was to frighten them, such was the unfortunate truth of criminal underworld but even more unfortunately was the fact that it was the completely wrong way to go about negotiating with the likes of Cash and the medics.

The metal shutters were immediately closed securely and he heard the clicking of rifles being readied.

Having no choice but to leave, he took what had been given and left.

...

It was the next night now and she wasn't looking any better. She woke up in a fright from a nightmare, convinced that she was alone.

He stayed with her until breathing was level once more. Croc knew that he would have to try with the medical center again. Perhaps the bastards would help if they saw the state she was in for themselves. He decided to go again without her, briefly leaving Tony alone to travel on his own up to ground level to make sure the way was clear. There was no way he was going to risk carrying her to the medical center if there was a chance that the guards might open fire on him.

Of all the people he could of run into that terrible night, the last he expected to see skulking around the sewers was the Bat himself. He had snarled at him, threatened him, but the Bat was ill. It wasn't worth his effort, and his initial aggression, his worry that the Bat might come across Tony and hurt her quickly faded away; just like him, his enemy had other goals that night.

He soon found his way back above ground again.

But as it turned out, there was no danger of the guards shooting him.

The medical center itself was empty when he returned. Both sets of doors were swung wide open, there was the acrid smell of explosives and burning in the air, mixed in with the unmistakable sharp tang of blood. He immediately assumed they were all dead. Heck, this was Arkham City, there was only so many conclusions he could make in a situation like this.

With no one around, he began to look for supplies by himself. The only problem was that he had no idea what he was searching for. He trashed the place, knocking down shelves and pulling out drawers as he searched.

He found more bandages, and some boxes containing bottles of pills - any other medical equipment he tossed to one side, not knowing its purpose or if it would be of any use. He picked up one of these tiny bottles and peered at the tiny writing scrawled across the side, he didn't recognise the name but knew it sounded medical, maybe Tony would know what it was.

Grabbing everything he thought could be useful, he hurried back out again. On the way he caught sight of the courthouse that was supposedly Two-Face's headquarters, it was burning and front of the building had partially collapsed. Croc immediately knew he would be getting no help from there.

There were a lot more helicopters on patrol that night than usual, the sky seemed to be swarming with them like flies over carrion.

...

'These are painkillers,' Tony identified the pills for him half an hour later, she was shivering in his arms as he held up the bottle for her to inspect.

'They'll help though, right?' he asked her.

'Well, they'll make me feel more comfortable...' she frowned, then as if to confirm his fears, she abruptly swooned and crumpled against him.

'You all right?' he asked her, touching her shoulder softly. She didn't seem to realise he had spoken. 'Tony, I need you to speak to me.'

'I'm sorry, but I feel kind of dizzy,' she whispered hoarsely. 'Really, really dizzy.'

She was dying right in front of him and there was nothing he could do.

He ran the back of a hand across her shivering cheek to comfort her, but she wasn't completely with him any more and he could practically feel her slipping further and further away. There was no question to it, he had to get her help, he had to get her to a hospital. And the only hospitals nearby were outside of Arkham City.

It would be dangerous, but he had no choice. But either way, there was a strong possibility that he would never see her again; he wouldn't be able to follow her once she was out.

To keep her, he would have to let her go.

'You need a doctor,' he told her. 'A hospital, a real hospital. Not like anything they got in this place.'

'Croc?' she asked weakly when he gently picked her limp body up off the ground. 'What's going on?'

'We're leaving Arkham City,' he told her. 'Like you always wanted.'

Then, perhaps delirious, she used the last of her strength to sit upright in his hold and press a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

He was still in shock when she fell back slack in his grip, shivering with sickness. For a moment it felt almost as if his heart would stop. With renewed vigor he promised himself that he would get her out of there.

* * *

They were above ground, she could tell by the soothing chill on her skin and the wind battering at her ears. In the distance she could hear the ever present sound of helicopter blades chopping at the cold night air, like an angry buzzing of bees around a hive. The sound was more intense than usual, as if many were flying at once. But though she could hear them, she saw no sign of the usual search lights that accompanied their flights; there were none overhead wherever it was that Croc had now taken her.

'Something is happening,' his voice rumbled through his chest and down into her very bones. Clara wasn't sure what he was talking about, she wasn't very capable of being sure of anything at the moment, but she nodded nonetheless and tried to focus on anything other than the stabbing pain in her leg and the insistent discomfort of her headache and feverish body.

'Good,' she breathed.

'There is no one watching, they're focusing on the town. Must be some sort of riot going on,' Croc confirmed, as he slid into the water, holding her to his chest with one arm. 'We'll make it.'

The water was ice cold, but right then it was almost a relief when she had such a high fever.

They followed the edge of the harbor until they came closer to the wall, Croc keeping her above the water so that she could breath. A helicopter swept overhead briefly, much too close for comfort. A few moments later, he told her to hold her breath and they sank below the surface.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry if this chapter seemed a bit rushed, to be honest it was, I'm not all that happy with its structure (maybe I'll go over it again someday) but I'm working on a limited timescale, I start university on the 22nd and I won't be able to publish after that date for a while. I'll get one more chapter up after this, and then I'll be taking a break, hopefully a short one.

Ok, so the release date for Arkham Knight has been confirmed: **2 June 2015**. Argh! Why such a long wait?! ;_; I'm certain it's going to be a fantastic game, but the wait is killing me!

_Response to reviews:_

_LurkingLady:_ About him not recognising her, I've heard that scent doesn't travel well between water and air (but that might be wrong *shrugs*) so he would have been relying more on light and shadow like a real crocodile when he was hunting. And ooh, o_o, I'll try my best to avoid the "trouble-magnet" stereotype, it's not a trope I really fond of (to be honest though, I've been giving the last few chapters of this story _"drama-injections"_, the old draft was a lot more basic with Clara meeting Croc after leaving the Penguin's gang without the near-miss, the run in with the patrol never happened and later on they decided to leave Arkham City as a result of Project 10 rather than Clara being ill - I hope I didn't get carried away).

_Kit Williams_: That would have been a really mean way for me to finish the story, really sad too, sorry for getting you worried, this part of the story is nearly over but I plan on making a whole new arc after this one set after Arkham City. :)

_PathlessSpore_: Aww, thank you, I'm really happy you're enjoying the story (it's the first one I've stuck to for more than a few weeks, my attention span normally doesn't normally last that long, lol). You're prediction was correct, there aren't any antibiotics in Arkham City (at least not which Croc can get his hands on), so inevitably Clara was going to fall ill as a result. Thank you for you review :D

**Quick summary of this chapter:**

Clara awakens to find that she is still alive, but injured. Croc is very apologetic but the physical damage is already done. He tries to look after her, but Clara inevitably falls ill eventually. Realising that she is dying before his eyes, Croc knows that the only way she will be able to survive is if he takes her to a hospital. Simultaneously Project 10 rages above, the guards distracted, Croc escapes from Arkham city with Clara.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

**Begin again**

She drifted in and out of consciousness, one moment they were by the docks and she was coughing up water, the next they were seemingly back in the streets and then she became aware they were no longer moving.

Clara found that she was lying over something hard and uneven, when she moved the hiss of sand told her it was construction materials, bags of cement and the like. One of Croc's hand engulfed hers and she smiled up at him dazedly, not quite knowing what was going on.

'You're going to be okay, I've called for an ambulance,' he told her, his voice sounding a long way off. 'They'll make you better, Tony.'

'My name isn't Tony,' she told him weakly.

'I know that, you told me before,' he was crouched beside her. 'We were never formally introduced.'

It was ironic really, that their relationship was so strange that they introduced themselves when they said good bye, completely against common sense and social norms. Clara decided to make the most of it.

'How'd you do? My name is Clara Dawson,' she introduced herself, laughing a little at the strangeness of the situation. She raised her other hand and settled it on top of Croc's. 'It was a pleasure to meet you.'

'Hm, Waylon Jones,' he grunted, then huffed in embarrassment before adding: 'At your service, my lady.' He even jokingly gave a small bow like a real gentleman.

Clara managed a weak laugh, and pulled on his hand so that it rested against the side of her face. He hooded his eyes and the corners of his face tugged slightly – and sadly Clara realised this was the closest he could come to smiling, so she smiled all the more to make up for it_._

'Where are we?'

'Some old warehouse on the outskirts of Gotham.'

Gotham? This was the first time she had been outside of Arkham City in months, Clara almost couldn't believe it.

'After you get better, I'm wondering if they'll send you back right away. If they put you back in through the side-gate in the Bowery I can be waiting nearby, and smash up anyone that tries to block your way,' Croc continued, when she didn't say anything for a few minutes.

A brutal promise of protection, but it didn't bother her, if anything it made her heart surge with happiness.

'I don't think I would be alive if it weren't for you,' she confessed to him. 'I would have given up a long time ago, I'd still be somewhere in Arkham City now, cold and dead.'

'Don't say that, you're safe now,' he told her. 'You got me.'

'I know that.' she reassured him. 'But if I live...'

'You'll live.'

'…will I ever see you again?' her vision was blurry, and she realised she was blinking back tears.

'Maybe,' he squeezed her shoulder gently. 'When they send you back, I'll be waiting for you.'

He stayed by her side until she could see the flashing of blue and red lights through the cracked glass upon the walls.

'They're here,' he said, looking out of the windows.

He looked back at her, then moved forward and leant down, pressing his forehead against hers, the gesture was surprisingly intimate in its gentleness. She could feel his warmth all around her, like a blanket. For a moment she was granted lucidity. Never before had she had a friend quite like Croc, and she knew right then that there was not anyone in the world that could replace him.

'Good bye, Clara,' he said, and then he was gone.

She was unable to stop herself from crying when she found herself alone again, even when the paramedics came tearing into the room she couldn't stop, recoiling away weakly from them as they assessed the situation.

...

There was a curtain drawn around her bed, an IV drip was stuck in her right arm.

For a few moments she groggily appreciated the relative softness of the starchy white sheets around her. Clara recognised the chemical smell of a hospital ward before she even opened her eyes.

Finding herself somewhere new and unknown, and worst of all finding that she was alone, Clara sat up. There was a metallic clink and something immediately tugged at her wrist. She looked down and saw to her surprise that her left hand had been handcuffed to the bedside table. Not liking the fact that she had been restrained like a criminal, Clara immediately began trying to pull her hand free. At this time she was so underweight she didn't believe it would be that hard for her to escape, but fatigue and the fact that she had bones in her hand prevented her from making this a reality.

A nurse briefly looked in through the curtains at her upon hearing Clara's struggles to free herself, but they hurriedly left again before Clara could ask them what was going on.

A few minutes passed, and a doctor pushed his way in through the curtains, a clipboard in hand. Clara regarded him with wide fearful eyes; after so long in Arkham City she didn't trust strangers.

'I am Dr Whittaker,' he told her, raising one hand placatingly upon noticing her tenseness. He drew up a chair beside her bed and, when she didn't struggle or curse at him, he took this as permission to continue speaking. 'I'm here to help. I just have a few questions for you. Is that alright?'

She nodded slowly. It wasn't like she had a choice.

'How are you feeling?'

'How should I be feeling?' she asked; her leg still ached but far less than it had, but she felt a bit strange at the same time, sort of fuzzy...

'I would hope nothing more than some mild discomfort, you're on some very strong pain killers,' he grinned, but the smile faltered when he saw the anxious look on her face. 'It's been about a two days since the paramedics brought you in. We weren't sure if you were going to make it when you first arrived. You had quite a high fever and you had lost a lot of blood. You're still not fully recovered, you're going to have to stay in this ward for another day or so for observation. You have had a blood transfusion and intravenous antibiotics since arriving but the IV drip needs to remain in place; you're quite malnourished.'

'Ah, well, I guess things could have been worse,' she joked, then giggled nervously, looking out through the gap in the curtains to try to get an idea of where she was. 'Where am I exactly?'

'You're in Mercy General Hospital. Do you not know how you got here?' she heard a pen click, she could see it poised over paper to take down notes. 'In particular, why is it that you were found in an old warehouse?'

Clara didn't reply. Nervously she ticked over the pros and cons of being honest.

'Now there is no need to panic, we already know you're from Arkham City-' Dr Whittaker had already picked up on the fact that she as trying to avoid the question.

'Are you sending me back?' she interrupted.

'Arkham City is being closed down.' Dr Whittaker told her, raising his eyebrows. 'The government has deemed it's no longer safe for the public or its inhabitants, and all inmates are to be relocated in due time. Don't worry, you won't be returning there. Now, what is your name? We were unable to find any identification on you.'

This part of the conversation was inevitable. Reluctantly she decided to tell the truth because she knew they would double check her identification here rather than simply take her word for it.

'It's Clara Dawson.' she told him.

'On what charges were you in the facility?'

'Post-traumatic stress disorder and clinical depression,' Clara was confused as to what was going to happen next. Was she going to be re-incarcerated into a psychiatric ward? She didn't like that idea at all. 'Can you unchain me now?'

'It's simply against protocol to release you until we have confirmed you identity, Miss Dawson. It's for our safety as well as yours,' the doctor told her. 'But I thank you for your co-operation. You should know that you will need to undergo a psychiatric evaluation before we can proceed with processing you. Depending on your identification and the results, you may need to be transferred to another facility in due time.'

'Another facility? Arkham City probably made me worse,' she replied irritably.

'It was an unsuccessful project,' the doctor agreed. 'I think everyone will agree on that now. But do not think that I am trying to corner you; many inmates from the facility are being questioned so as to gather further evidence for investigations and court cases regarding the illegality of the Arkham City. So I must ask, how did you escape the facility?'

'I swam out.'

'You swam?'

'Yes.'

'When?'

'I don't know, a few days ago maybe? It was kind of hard to keep track of the time when I didn't have access to a clock or calendar.' And thinking about that, what was the date now? Was it still December, or were they already in January?

'Who was your accomplice? Who escaped with you?'

'I escaped on my own,' she lied.

'Someone contacted the hospital for you, and there were signs that the warehouse you were found in had been forcibly broken into; personally I find it hard to believe you were capable of breaking into anywhere in the condition you were found you in.'

'Everyone went by nicknames in Arkham City, you'd be very lucky to get a real name from anyone,' she replied indifferently. 'Do you think anyone there would have wanted to give their real name to me?'

'So you admit you were not on your own?'

Clara fell quiet again, uncertain how to respond.

'You are not in any trouble, Miss Dawson. I don't think anyone could have you convicted for a breaking into that warehouse, there was no way you were capable at the time. What I am more curious in how you got out. Arkham City was supposedly inescapable.'

'I already told you, I swam out,' she bit her lip and she tried to remember back to the night, it all seemed so hazy now. 'I think there was something going on elsewhere because the usual security wasn't around. There was no one around to see me leave.'

'That would coincide with the night you were found, Emergency Protocol 10 was active at the time.'

'Protocol 10?'

'Arkham City was deemed a hazard to the public, Protocol 10 was a measure taken to neutralize all inmates within the facility so as to prevent a mass breakout.'

'By neutralize do you mean...?'

'Yes.'

Clara felt her heart plummet in a panic. Croc had said he was going back into the facility, what if...?

'What happened?' she demanded immediately.

'Shortly after the order was issued, the director of the project was _relinquished_ of duty, and the event was cancelled.'

'So no one died?'

'A lot of people did die,' the doctor replied uncomfortably. 'But the vast majority were left unharmed.'

Where was Croc now? Was he alright? Did he know that she was too?

'Could I make a request?' she asked tentatively after a few moments.

'That depends on what you're asking, Miss Dawson.'

'Could you get me a newspaper? Any will do, I need to know what happened, find out whether they released the names of any of the casualties.'

'I don't think that sort of information will be in print. The whole place is in lockdown. The only name you might find is that of the Joker. He's dead.'

The fact that one of the biggest crime lords in Gotham had just died seemed trivial to her right at that moment.

'Arkham City has been shut down, and those that still remain there will be extracted shortly,' he looked at her pityingly. 'I am sorry you had to be put through such a system.'

'I suppose they all just get moved elsewhere,' she replied, leaning forward to peer at the doctor's wristwatch, she could just make out that it was something past eight at night. 'What happens next?'

'You recover, we check the paperwork and city records to verify your identification, and then, if you're cleared to go, you can leave,' he told her.

'But where do I go? I haven't got my own house, and the room I was renting out at the university, it must belong to someone else by now...'

'What about your family?'

'My family?' the notion was strange to her after all this time; she had almost forgotten she had one any more.

'Call them and tell them you're okay, they must be worried sick.'

* * *

Several days had passed.

Croc was back in the tunnel he had specifically sought out for her, which had briefly been theirs could still very faintly smell her scent here. And if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine she was still there, sleeping quietly nearby.

He had not wanted to leave her, it had been so hard for him to trust that the paramedics would look after her. But if he had stayed they probably would have called the police when they realised he was there, and they would not have seen to Clara until it was too late.

This was simply the way it had to be.

Never before had he noticed how empty the tunnels were below Arkham City. How they echoed hollowly when he walked through them, how the only other sound was the distant running of water and occasional crackling of the old concrete overhead.

This was not something that should have bothered him. For the past seven years he had thought he wanted nothing more than to be left alone, it was the only time when he didn't feel agitated; but now it suddenly felt unbearable.

It reminded him of being back in the old sewer network below the asylum, where for months on end he hadn't see anyone, though he knew the ground above was swarming; he could hear and smell their presence. They had locked him away, and tried to forget about him. Occasionally they would throw raw meat down for him, then just sometimes guards would come to lead him to upper floors at gunpoint, where doctors would say they could help him. They would say this all the while with looks of disgust on their faces, and their hands poised ready to electrocute him. They promised a cure, while dwelling on thoughts of his destruction; he smelt their putrid fear and knew they lied.

He had been left to rot there, and he'd probably still be there if the Joker hadn't destroyed most of the asylum in his brief takeover. Without a hope for a future beyond the day, Croc would try to escape, again and again, if only because he had nothing else to do.

That was something he had began to think would never change.

Escaping to Arkham City only to still find himself imprisoned again hadn't changed his mind much. The only change had been that his thoughts had then turned to survival rather than escape.

He had entered a repetitive cycle much like the one he had grown so used to over the years: kill, eat and live a little longer.

And then along came Clara.

At first she had just been nothing more than an itch, something vaguely annoying but completely harmless. She had been terrified of him at first, but never had she attempted to insult him, never tried to hurt him, and like him she had been so alone – but it had taken him a while to realise this. For so long he had been used to the world simply being him and "them"; he hadn't trusted her any more than the others, hadn't regarded her as anything different.

But she had been different. He wasn't quite sure when she had ceased to be part of the collective "them", perhaps it was when she had sought his company out for more than to simply ask something of him, she had never betrayed him, even when it might have suited her. And it had taken his breath away.

Maybe one day their paths would cross again.

That was if she was even still alive.

For so long he had had no ambition, nothing that had counted for anything, it had all just been living in the moment for himself and no one else. Perhaps it was what some mushy fools called love, he didn't know, but one thing he knew for certain was that no matter what happened in the future, he would remember her.

* * *

A few hours later, Clara found herself on the phone listening to the ringing dial on the other end, she could only hope that they hadn't moved house since she had been put away. Part of her desperately wanted to put the phone back down, how could she talk to them after all this time?

'Hello?' questioned a soft voice on the other end, Clara recognised the voice immediately and squinted back tears.

'Hi mom.'

'Clara?' for a moment the other end was silent, then her mother began to cry. 'Clara, where are you? Please tell me, sweetie, I've been so worried. No one has said anything about you for months!'

'I'm at Mercy General Hospital,' Clara looked down the ward now that the curtains had been drawn back. 'I'm in the east wing, I'm not sure which floor.'

'Are you okay? What happened? Were you shot?! We saw the news the other night, neither your father or I have been able to sleep since, we just kept thinking of all those guards shooting everyone, and you stuck in the middle of it! You never should have been put there, those monsters who made the place should have been the ones locked up!'

'I haven't been shot. But they're detaining me while they confirm my identity,' Clara assured her as she toyed nervously with the phone's wire in her hands; she wouldn't mention the fact that she had nearly died just yet. 'Could you or dad come to see me? I might need a place to stay.'

'We'll both be right there, your father is at work at the moment but I'll get him right away! Don't worry darling, we coming to take you home!'

So normal that it was abnormal, she couldn't believe this was happening. She wondered what might have been if she had never been injured, if she had been able to remain in Arkham City with Croc. What future would have awaited her then? Surely not a good one, she tried to reassure herself. And then she was overcome with sadness because she knew that it was very unlikely she would ever see him again. Because normal was normal and that was what she had finally returned to, and Croc had no place there.

Somehow, she would have to find some way to see him again, even if it seemed impossible.

* * *

**A/N:** That's the end of this part of the story but I'll be writing a sequel, but it may be delayed for a while as I'm starting university in a few days, and along with the workload from that I'll also have the stress of settling in, but I plan to continue writing whenever I've get the chance. :D

_**Here's a little of what to expect in the future: **_There will be awkwardness such as Croc getting stuck in a doorway, Clara trying to get back into studies while simultaneously trying to figure out how to factor Croc into her normal life, and of course a good dose of _'Hey mom and dad, meet my eleven foot tall, super-criminal boyfriend I met while I was in prison.'_ which is sure to go down well XD

I have to say this past year, I've never seen the _Arkham fanfiction archive_ so active regarding our dear "Crockle" (if you get the reference, kudos to you, #coughbabydollcough#), I think so far we currently have at least 11 fanfics started just this year for him. So much love! ^_^

_Random fact time!_

-The song I listened to most regularly while writing this story was 'Clubbed to Death' by Rob Dougan, and its many remixes (it's an instrumental soundtrack piece, you might recognise it from 'the Matrix' or 'Blade').

-The part in this chapter where Croc is thinking about his time at Arkham Asylum is actually a modified version of the text I originally had planned for the prologue of the story (which I cut out of the final version), so its kind of ironic that it ended being placed in the last chapter instead.

...

_Response to reviews:_

_LurkingLady:_ In the last chapter I was really about keeping Croc in character, which is partially why I thought it was rushed, but there is something ridiculously cute about Croc trying to care for someone else though ^_^ I felt that with the dire situation, neither Clara nor Croc would have felt as reserved as they would usually so they were more likely to open up to each other, I'm glad you liked it :)

_darkwolf1121:_ Don't worry, she made it :)

_Renzin:_ Thanx. I've been trying my best to keep things as realistic as possible, so I'm pleased it's showing. Your review made me so happy, :D

_TheForgottenSheikah:_ Aww thank you ^_^ I'm glad you think that Croc is in character but adorable at the same time, I've honestly been worried that these past few chapters I was writing him OOC.

**Quick summary: **Croc takes Clara to an old empty warehouse, where he then calls for an ambulance. They part, Croc returning to Arkham City and Clara being taken to Mercy General Hospital. Clara awakens a day or so later in a hospital bed, she briefly talks to a doctor there who informs her that Arkham City is being closed down and she won't have to return. Clara is very anxious about the future, the doctor tells her to call her family. Clara hesitantly does so. Her parents tell her she can move back in with them until things are sorted out once more. Clara mourns the fact that the part of her life with Croc may be over.


End file.
